Fractured
by engerald
Summary: Someone wants Sherlock Holmes to break down. The consulting detective must fight for his sanity until help arrives. But by the time John, Lestrade and Mycroft finds Sherlock...he's completely cracked. This is how he spiraled to insanity. WARNING: Tortures
1. Chapter 1

_Mr. Holmes…? Can you hear me Mr. Holmes?_

_Sherlock, please answer me…Sherlock, oh please just say something for me._

Sherlock can see the paramedics gazing down upon him with their medical masks on and pen light flashing down at his iris. His reflexes were just fine. He felt John's hands grab his and squeeze it tightly. John gazed at Sherlock with a stern look on his face. The doctor knew there was something critically wrong with him. Sherlock Holmes was not responding. He was awake. He was conscious but his head was like a blank slate. He just stayed there motionlessly like a rag doll. John's hands brushed up to Sherlock's limps wrists. The paramedics were getting ready to strap him on to the stretcher.

_What have they done to him? What's wrong with him? For god's sake Sherlock, say something! ANYTHING! _

The hands now shook Sherlock's shoulders desperately.

_What's wrong with him?_

Everything.

…

Two months ago.

When Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes, a strong flash of light penetrated his vision. He winced at it and immediately tried to turn his head away from the lights but his head didn't budge. He frowned and squinted at the light. A strange noise erupted in his ears. It was a high pitched screech as if someone was scratching the glass with a knife. He tried to life his hands up to block the ray of light away but his hands wouldn't budge. Sherlock tried to look down to see what was restraining him but he remembered that his head was also immobile. He breathed in through his nose and exhaled slowly. Then he closed his eyes and tried to make sense of what was going on here.

_Where am I? How did I end up like this? What is the last thing I remember doing? _

The first and the second question, Sherlock was completely clueless. But the third question, he can vaguely remember. He was working at an experiment last night in St. Bart's. It was something around 11pm at that time. He was comparing blood samples he found at several murder scenes.

_And then what happened?_

Sherlock strained his brows. He was running a substance check on the fourth blood sample when…

_Did I black out? How?_

Had someone attacked him? He doubted that. If someone did, he would have fought back and he would have remembered it. Besides, other than the irritating noise and the strong light he was currently exposed to, he felt completely fine. After a few seconds of pondering, it finally came down upon him.

_I was drugged. _

When? He tried to recall anything he had eaten or drunk in the past 24 hours. He was working on a case. He had hardly eaten anything. Other than a piece of apple but that was very difficult to drug without Sherlock noticing it. Then he remembered having a cup of coffee before leaving his flat but it was highly unlikely that that would be spiked. Other than that he hadn't taken anything. Not even water…

_The nicotine patches_

He had bought a new pack two days ago and started using them yesterday. He tugged at the restraints experimentally with his eyes still tightly shut. The surface was cool and metallic. They clung around his wrist tightly, barely allowing his circulations going. He tugged at his feet too. They were also tightly restrained and he was barefoot. His watch that was usually strapped around his left hand wrist was missing too. He was restrained stomach up to a metallic slab. He tried to lift his head but he felt something tightly tug around his throat and forehead. His neck and forehead was tightly strapped down too. He also realized that his hair was cut incredibly short. He didn't feel the familiar loose curls around his ears and forehead. He flexed his fingers and then touched the edge of the slab. They were cool, smooth, and definitely metallic. He cautiously cracked open his eyes but closed it immediately. The light was too strong for human eyes. He can feel the heat of it all over his body and face. Despite the absurd state he was currently in, Sherlock's heart wasn't beating wildly nor was he precipitating at all. In fact, he was completely relaxed and calm. It almost fascinated him. It was like a new type of guessing game.

_What else could I deduce from this?_

He questioned himself and strained his ears against the faint screeching noise. Was it coming from a speaker or was it echoing from somewhere else? But the more he listened intently to the noise, something happened to him. Before he knew it, he felt something well up inside him and his throat constricted. Suddenly, the bridge of his nose stung and he felt something warm trickle from his nose and down to his upper lip. His nose was bleeding. Sherlock took a deep breath through his mouth and tried to shut out the noise. The pain ebbed away immediately.

_What was that? _

He can still hear the faint screech but it wasn't hurting his nose anymore and the strange nausea had disappeared from his abdomen. After taking a few deep breaths, he strained his ears and tried again. In less than five seconds, the unpleasant feeling was back again. The screeching noise suddenly seemed to maximize its volume and his ear drums started to ache. His stomach swirled and Sherlock felt the muscles in his throat get ready to vomit. He was bleeding from his nose again. Before anything worse happened, Sherlock broke his concentration and gasped for air. He had no idea what this was. He didn't have enough scientific knowledge to make out what in the world this trickery was but he made a mental note to research about it as soon as he was out of here. The blood trickled down across his right cheek. It was tickling him and he really wanted to use his hands to swipe the sensation away. He can already feel the blood starting to scab.

He stayed there quietly and tried to contemplate how long he had been out but he lacked too many data to make an accurate guess. It could have been a few hours or a few days. Sherlock had no clue. He tried to get used to the strong light and he opened his eyes several seconds but only to find himself temporarily blinded by it. He shut his eyes and chased the strange white shadows dance behind his eyelids. Once he fully recovered, he tried the whole process all over again. It was a stupid thing to do but it was all Sherlock could do at the moment. Boredom was setting down upon him. It was interesting all right. The situation he as in was very unusual but he was still in the middle of a case. He wanted to get back to his experiment as soon as possible and confirm his hypothesis. He tapped his fingers against the metal surface randomly. That as when he realized his nails had been trimmed shorter than usual. He frowned and pressed his nails against the slab. Then, he also flexed his toes and bent his ankles and brushed it against the board. They were also trimmed.

He was forced to lie like that for several more minutes when suddenly, the screeching noise became louder. At first, Sherlock thought it was just his imagination, but he realized that someone was gradually raising the volume. The noise pounded against his ear drums and the familiar uneasy sensation returned to his stomach. Sherlock gritted his teeth and clenched his jaws tightly. He tried to block out the noise but unlike his eyes, he couldn't close his ears. Sherlock huffed and inhaled sharply through his nose. The screeching was now so loud, that his head was starting to pound. He arms and legs strained against the restraints and he squirmed around. A new set of blood trickled over his drying scabs and Sherlock gurgled as bile well up though his throat. He was facing upward. The last thing he wanted to do was throw up on himself, but the noise was becoming unbearable. The pain at the bridge of his nose started to travel upward toward his forehead. Sherlock furrowed his brows. A trickle of warm bile leaked from the corner of his mouth and ran down toward his throat. The consulting detective let out an ashamed groan and fought against the nauseating sensation. He clenched his fist tightly and realized why his capturer had trimmed his fingernails. If his nails were his usual length, they would have dug into his palm pretty deeply by now. Just when Sherlock thought he couldn't hold down his insides any longer, the screeching noise suddenly broke off. The strange sensation disappeared in a flash and Sherlock relaxed all of his muscles and breathed in deeply.

But even as he experienced all these unusual physical symptoms, his heart never skipped a beat or elevate. He was sweating slightly but other than that, Sherlock Holmes was completely relaxed. And just like that he was left at peace for another few hours. Sherlock decided to count the seconds in his head to keep track of time and to keep himself from getting bored. It was exactly 1976 seconds later, nearly three hours later when Sherlock heard a door open from his right. The consulting detective wanted to turn his head toward the sound but he remembered he couldn't. So he just drew his lips in to a straight line and waited for whatever was going to happen next. He felt more relieved than frightened that someone was finally approaching him. He was so bored that he was grateful for any movement. The door seemed to be a sliding door. It didn't clang nor did he register a door knob twisting. It merely clicked and Sherlock heard the rollers sliding across the metal tracks. The footsteps were soft. Either the person approaching him wore only socks, was bear footed, or either the floor was carpeted or cushioned. Sherlock didn't say anything. He just waited calmly for the patting noise to get closer and closer. After a few seconds, the footsteps finally paused and he heard a faint shuffling noise to his immediate right. He strained his ears. What was the person wearing? From the noise the fabric didn't seem to be very soft. Perhaps it was a suit or a coat? He felt something wet touch his cheek. It was a wet towel. Sherlock breathed in deeply. It smelled like chloride. Perhaps the towel was bleached? The wet towel wiped away the half dried bile from his jawline, lips, and neck. Then, it scrubbed at the dried flecks of blood running from his nose. After a few seconds of shuffling noises, a pair of gloved hands pressed against his neck. It was taking his pulse. Sherlock waited patiently and wondered what his capturer's profession was. He tried to smell the hands but it only smelled like plastic gloves and nothing else. Then, the hands ran down to his abdomen. It was then that Sherlock realized he was dressed in a pair of t shirt and pants. The unknown man undid the restraints on Sherlock's stomach and chest. Sherlock didn't bother to try to escape or resist. He just waited patiently and wondered what was going to happen next. The hands pulled up his shirt and exposed his stomach. Then, it pressed against the area expertly.

_Is he a physician? _

The capturer was palpating him. The hands pressed above his kidney and his ribs and seemed to be satisfied with his physical condition. The hands pulled his shirt down and surprisingly, patted Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock didn't like to be touched. The palpation was annoying enough but the patting slightly unnerved him. The capturer must have noticed Sherlock's muscle tense at this because suddenly a finger ran down the side of Sherlock's face affectionately. Goosebumps erupted on Sherlock's arms but other than that, Sherlock didn't betray his emotions. Suddenly, he realized that his capturer could be a female. The way the fingers were now touching him was very unprofessional and too passionate. Realizing that Sherlock would not react to any of the following physical contact, the hand withdrew and the footsteps padded away from Sherlock. Once again, he was left in solitude with no physical freedom. After a few minutes of agonizing silence, Sherlock decided to dabble around with his mind palace. He may not be able to continue his experimenting at the lab but he still had his head. He opened up the map of the crime scenes and a mental calendar marking who was killed when and the suspect's alibis. He went through all the details and checked whether he had missed anything. Obviously, he hadn't. No matter how many times he checked, Sherlock realized that he, like always, was on the right track. He was so close to solving the case. Soon, his thoughts started to drift off to John, Lestrade and all the others. He wondered what they were doing now.

He was happy and well contended for the time being by keeping himself busy with hypothetical ideas on where John might be going on a date and what Mrs. Hudson was baking when he was interrupted by the screech again. It started off as a faint noise, barely noticeable but just like before, it gradually raised its volume and Sherlock's fingers started to tense again. He tried to keep his breathing steady but once again, his nose was bleeding, and this time, it took shorter time before he was starting to choke on his own vomit. The sour taste irritated Sherlock. His stomach lurched and he dreaded having to lie down there for another few hours while the bile and blood dried onto him. Sherlock hadn't eaten properly for a long time so he didn't have to worry much about his insides but he was still coughing up acidic bile. The stench was still bad enough for him. Unlike the first time, the screeching noise kept going like that for several minutes longer and Sherlock was coughing and vomiting helplessly by the time it stopped. As soon as the noise stopped, Sherlock spat out the last of the bile from his mouth and swallowed hard. He wanted to rinse his mouth badly, and take a shower if that was possible too.

…

Sherlock lost track of time. The boredom was nagging at him again. The bile and blood had dried completely and the stench had eased. With nothing to do and not being able to work on any case, Sherlock was starting to get drowsy. Hunger was starting to grow inside him too. Without work and the surging adrenaline, Sherlock's body had the same physical need as anyone else. The consulting detective decided to drift off to sleep to kill some time.

His rest was interrupted abruptly by a pair of hands rummaging his neck. Sherlock woke up with a start but remembered not to open his eyes. His head slightly jerked against the restraints as he came around. The blood and the bile were wiped clean again, and the familiar gloved hands were taking his pulse. Sherlock was getting the hang of the cycle. He expected the mysterious examiner to check his organs and then leave him at peace again but this time, after the short palpations, he felt a cotton swab his left arm. Sherlock thinned his lips and realized what was about to happen. He felt a small pinching sensation as the needle tip punctured his skin and penetrated his vein. Sherlock didn't know what was being injected but he felt the effects immediately. He was still awake and his consciousness was clear but his fingertips began to lose its feeling. All his senses in his legs drained away and Sherlock couldn't move a single muscle. He couldn't even open his eyes even if he wanted to. His lips wouldn't move too. Breathing was the only thing he could do. Sooner or later he would be drooling freely from his mouth. He heard the restraints being undone but his body was completely paralyzed and he couldn't feel it. The restrains around his head were being undone too. He heard an additional pair of footsteps close in on him. He heard rustling noises as he was dragged out of the metal board. He heard a dull thumps as his legs fell on the ground. It would have sent a dull pain up Sherlock's legs had he not been anesthetized. He was dragged out of the room and he heard the door shut. The floor must have turned into a tiled floor now because he noticed the footsteps turn from a soft pad to a clucking noise. Sherlock also noticed that one footstep was obviously a high heel shoes.

_So it really was a woman_.

He thought to himself idly. He heard another door slide open and he heard another thud, this time larger and he realized he was hurled onto the floor carelessly like a sack of potatoes. He wondered where he was moved to and hoped he could somehow find a way to escape this place soon because he was getting tired of this.

…

Sherlock must be spending another night at the lab. That was what John first thought when Sherlock didn't come home that night. He sat in the couch waited lazily for the consulting detective's return as he read a book. Realizing that it was already past midnight, he stifled a yawn and closed his book and clambered up the stairs toward his bedroom. Sherlock must have found something to preoccupy him for the night. He did that sometimes and John expected Sherlock to come bursting into the flat next morning with a new lead, or possibly with the case solved.

It was next morning when John called Lestrade to check on what Sherlock was up to when he realized that something unusual had happened.

"Sherlock? No, I haven't met him yet. In fact, I was just about to call you." Lestrade said in a puzzled tone. "I mailed and called him last night but he's not replying. You haven't got any idea where he's gone off to this time, have you?" John promised to tell Sherlock to phone Lestrade as soon as he finds him but John had no idea where Sherlock had gone to. If he wasn't at Bart's or with Lestrade, then he must be off on one of those investigations again. John almost felt half silly for worrying about Sherlock. He was a grown man. There was no need for John to keep track of his flat mate's whereabouts all the time. He changed and went off to work.

It was late evening when John got home. The flat was pitch-black and there was no sign of Sherlock's return. He asked Mrs. Hudson if she had seen him just in case but she simply shook her head. Sherlock had never run off somewhere like this for more than a day without mailing John or contacting someone. John took out his mobile and sent a brisk mail to Sherlock just in case.

Where are you? Greg said he wants you to call him back. – JW

Then, he went to bed. It was the next morning when Mycroft contacted him that John realized something had truly gone wrong.

"My brother seemed to have vanished from our radar." The elder Holmes remarked coolly over the phone. John swallowed hard.

"What do you mean?"

"He's vanished. It never happened before. At least not for this long." John paced around his flat and bit his lower lip.

"I think he's in trouble Mycroft."

…

Sherlock slowly felt the feeling in his fingers and legs return. He lifted his head from the cool concrete floor and let out a slurred groan. He had drooled all over the place, just as he had expected. He wiped it away with the hem of his shirt and lifted his body up clumsily. He was in a completely dark room. He couldn't tell how big it was or where the door was. There wasn't a single crack of light. He strained his eyes to get used to the darkness. It felt weird since he had been closing his eyes for a long time to avoid light, not he was opening them wide to get some light. He stretched his hands out in front of him and searched the area. The floor was hard and smooth but the walls were padded. He walked along the walls and brushed his hands thoroughly across the surface but he couldn't find any door handle so he gave up the search and treaded carefully toward the center of the room. He stretched his stiff arms and legs, rolled his neck and tried to relax his body. He strained his ears for any noise. There was nothing. Not even that faint screech. Sherlock sat down at the corner of the room and leaned against the wall. He racked his head at any possible explanation for all this. The fact cool darkness and the silence were relieving and it helped him think clearly.

_Why did they move me over here? Is this my resting place? Or am I still being monitored? What are they monitoring me for anyway? What were those examinations? _

He ran a hand down his hair and was taken by surprise for he had completely forgotten the fact that his hair was cropped short now. He looked down at his shirt ad felt the fabric. It was nothing unusual. It was just an average shirt. Sherlock sighed and aligned his fingertips together and tried to block the growing hunger away from his thoughts. His mind was racing. Questions erupted in his head one after the other but Sherlock couldn't answer any of it. All he could do was wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock paced around in the darkness for what seemed like hours. His bare feet circled over the cool cement surface silently. The detective was bored to death. He needed something to work on. His stomach rumbled but he ignored it and fidgeted around with his shirt. He breathed in deeply and tried to smell the air but there was no particular scent for Sherlock to deduce from. Without his sense of sight, smell, and hearing, Sherlock was unable to tell anything. He huffed and sat down again but his mind would not stop buzzing. The same questions circled inside him over and over again. Sherlock scratched his arm where he usually had his nicotine patches on. He craved for stimulation. He needed something strong. The last thing he wanted was to be cooped up in a dark, quiet cell. He couldn't tell how long he could last in here without going mad.

_Is that what they want from me? Do they want to drive me mad? _

Sherlock considered the possibility and wondered what their tactics were. If that really was their goal, Sherlock had to make sure to keep his composure as long as possible. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

_Solar system…yes what did John say about that? _

Sherlock tried to recall random memories he had deleted from his hard drive to keep himself busy. It was a difficult task and he needed to concentrate hard. He didn't know what he going to do with all this rubbish information but at least it would keep him intact for a while.

…

When John arrived at the New Scotland Yard, Mycroft Holmes was already in Lestrade's office. It was very rare for Mycroft to come out of his comfort zone and visit other people's work place. The moment he saw the tall elder Holmes standing in front of Lestrade's desk, John knew that something had gone gravely wrong. Lestrade kneaded his forehead with his index finger and thumb. There was a laptop on top of his desk, with the screen facing toward Mycroft and John. The officer gestured at it.

"It's last night's surveillance camera footage from Bart's." John pulled up a chair for himself and Mycroft and the two sunk into it as they stared at the screen intently. The screen showed an overview of an all too familiar lab at Bart's where Sherlock usually did his experiments. Sherlock seemed to be completely endorsed in whatever he was doing. The consulting detective moved about the lab briskly and fetched a couple of equipment once a while but other than that, he was hunched over the counter, working silently. The time showed that it was 11:15pm.

"Fast forward to 12:13." Lestrade grumbled. John did as he was told. Sherlock was still sitting at the counter, looking into a microscope, but suddenly, Sherlock lifted his head from the lens and reached toward the next blood sample to his left when he suddenly swayed violently to the side. Sherlock grabbed the edge of the counter with a start and shook his head. He slid reluctantly off his stool and stood up to reach for the object he was seeking for but his knees buckled and his tall figure collapse onto the floor. Sherlock's fingers twitched a little but other than that, he seemed to have passed out. John swallowed hard and stole a quick glance toward Mycroft. Mycroft stared at the screen with a cool expression but his eyes were pinned to the screen. He was probably trying to deduce what has happened just like how Sherlock did all the time.

"Nicotine patches." Mycroft mumbled. John and Lestrade exchanged confused glances. Sherlock was lying still on the floor for a few minutes before one of the hospital cleaning staffs came into the scene. The man jumped when he saw Sherlock unconscious on the floor. He kneeled beside him and shook Sherlock. Seeing that he wasn't responding, he dashed out of the room and after a few seconds, came back with several other doctors and nurses. They lifted Sherlock up and carried him out of the room. The last person to leave the lab turned off the lights and the screen was suddenly enveloped in darkness.

"The hospital records show that he was hospitalized immediately in room 213 but there's no sign of him. He disappeared. We checked the other camera footages but they seem to be hacked. Sherlock wasn't caught in any other cameras after that." Lestrade explained and closed the laptop with a sigh.

"What were those people then? Did you question them?" John gestured at the computer, indicting the medical staffs that had escorted Sherlock from the lab.

"They don't exist…we questioned some of the staffs at St. Bart's and Molly too…but no one recognized any of the people that appeared in the footage. They were outsiders."

"So that was all just a clever skit?" John asked with an astounded look on his face.

"They probably knew that were going to find this footage." Mycroft said with a sigh. "I asked Anthea to do a quick physical check on all of these men. But I doubt we would find any matches in our database."

"And how long would that check-up take?" Lestrade asked.

"It'll take about a day or two." John leaned back in his chair and tried to make sense of what was going on. Lestrade opened his drawer and pulled out Sherlock's mobile phone from out of it. He placed it on the table.

"All we could find was this in the lab." John stared at it. He took it and opened Sherlock's text inbox. The mail that John had sent last night was still in the unread folder.

"John, I want you to bring some of the nicotine patch samples to Anderson. He will do a substance check on it to see if he could provide us with any leads." Lestrade instructed firmly. John nodded and stood up immediately.

…

Sherlock heard the door slid open but he didn't see any sign of light leaking in. The cell entrance must be double sealed to make sure that no light came inside the room. Sherlock wondered why they cared so much about such things. The intruder approached Sherlock with steady footings.

_They must have night vision goggles on._

Sherlock sat up and waited patiently. He sensed a figure crouching down right in front of him. A gloved hand cupped Sherlock's face gently. It lifted his chin, and examined his eyelids. Then, Sherlock felt the cool surface of a stethoscope slide under his shirt and rest over his chest. Sherlock breathed in deeply and exhaled. The examiner seemed satisfied with this and drew the cold instrument away from Sherlock's skin. There was a rustling noise and the sound of water swishing inside something. Sherlock pricked his ears up. A hard object was pressed into Sherlock's hand. He grasped it hesitantly and realized it was a water bottle. He drew it up to his nose and sniffed at it. It was odor less.

"Don't worry, it's just water." A woman's voice said coolly. It was emotionless but it was like music to Sherlock's ears after long hours of complete silence. He didn't reply. He just drew the bottle up to his lips and tipped some of the contents into his mouth. It wasn't until then that he realized he was incredibly thirsty. He emptied half of the bottle and returned it to the woman. He leaned back against the wall and stared into the darkness where he guessed where the woman's face would be. There was another rustling noise and Sherlock felt a cotton swab his harm again. He closed his eyes and waited for the injection to take place. He expected to be anesthetized again and embraced for the unpleasant draining sensation he experienced just a few hours ago. His eyes shot wide open when he realized that he was wrong. A jolt of warmth ran up his arm and spread through his chest. His lungs felt like they were shrinking. His insides lurched and Sherlock had to grit his teeth to keep himself from shuddering. His legs kicked weakly. He was injected a hallucinogen. The familiar hands patted Sherlock's cheeks and the figure shuffled away, leaving Sherlock in an unwelcomed pool of ecstasy.

Sherlock slid to the cool floor. He closed his eyes. Suddenly, a sweet smell bloomed all around him and white lights danced around his vision. He grasped the floor, expecting it to be cold and hard but realized it was soft and warm. Someone was murmuring in his ears. Sherlock didn't know what it was saying but it seemed to be asking him a question. He nodded weakly in reply.

_Who am I talking to? John? _

He felt something or someone touch his back. It stroked the skin between his shoulder blades tenderly. Sherlock took a deep breath.

_You're drugged. _

He reminded himself firmly. The fingers started to massage his back and relax his sore, tensed muscles. Sherlock squirmed on his stomach and tried to lift himself up but his muscles were useless. He collapsed helplessly to the ground and passed out.

…

When Sherlock woke up again he was greeted with the blindingly powerful lights instead of the cool darkness. He let out a gurgled yelp and shut his eyes tightly. He tried to jerk his head away like he did before but his head was restrained tightly. A small spark of frustration erupted inside Sherlock and he tugged violently at the restraints. He gritted his teeth and pried at his arms but only found pain sear up his wrist as the metal rubbed sharply against his skin. The hallucinogen had worn off completely and every single sensation around him was so sharp that it almost hurt him. The dull heat from the overhead lights pricked at his exposed skin. The back of his eyes ached and thudded dully against his skull. For a moment, Sherlock's thoughts warped back to the beginning.

_Where am I? How did I end up like this? What is the last thing I remember doing? _

Then, Sherlock stopped himself.

_Déjà vu_

He shuddered at the thought. From the state of his hunger, he was probably held in custody here for more than 24 hours. Yet, he couldn't remember much about the events that took place in the last few hours.

_John and the others should be getting worried by now._

Sherlock's curiosity craved for some kind of visual stimulation. For the past few hours, he was either kept in complete darkness or was forced to keep his eyes shut. He was sick of it. If only he could see what was around him, he would be able to make more sense of what was going on around here. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. Opening his eyes even slightly made his head pound but he blinked back the tears and shifted his eyes as far as he could to his right to avoid directly looking into the lights He was disappointed to see only white cushioned walls and nothing else. It was clean, no stains, no indents, no nothing. Unable to bear the pain any longer, he closed his eyes. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple. Sherlock was far from panicking but he was getting a bit unnerved by the situation. Unable to gather any data, Sherlock's imagination was starting to run wild. He knew that none of the details he imagined were based on facts but it still worried him. Where they going to kill him, starve him, interrogate him?

"What do you want?" for the first time in a long time, Sherlock spoke. His voice was firmer than he imagined and he felt reassured by it. He realized that speaking out loud helped him calm down. "What do you want from me?" he asked in a louder voice this time. No reply came. He didn't expect any so he just stayed still and tried to count the seconds again. But as soon as his nerve was calming down, the tormenting screeching erupted again. Sherlock groaned when he first noticed the noise and tried to block it by counting the seconds by whispering it under his breath, but his mouth began to dry up as the familiar squeezing sensation bloomed in his head. Sherlock winced and braced himself for the nosebleed. Blood ran freely from both of his nostrils. Sherlock grasped the edge of the metallic board and fought the nausea but the water he had drunk earlier was already welling up. He feared of choking so he spat them out, dirtying the front of his shirt.

"Stop," He gurgled but the screech only got louder and louder. His ears seared. "Stop," He growled but his voice was drowned by the strange noise. Sherlock opened his eyes but closed it with a start. Now his eyes felt like they were being squeezed. Sherlock couched up some more bile and tried to lift his head from the board. He tensed every muscle in his neck and shoulders but it didn't budge. Out of frustration and confusion, he scraped at the metallic board with his short nails. When he thought he was going to pass out, the noise stopped abruptly. Sherlock was panting wildly as sweat tricked down his flushed cheeks. However, his moment of rest didn't last long. As soon as he caught his breath, the noise began again. Instead of gradually becoming loud, it suddenly erupted, making Sherlock jump in surprise. His wrists banged against the metal and sent a jolt of pain up his bones. Sherlock started gagging and he made strange choking noise although he didn't want to. Though his eyes were closed tightly, white spots erupted in front of him. It frightened him for no reason. Wanting it to go away, he opened them. He closed them immediately. Then the sound stopped. He was engulfed in complete silence again.

_I don't know how long I can last in here. I have to get out of here. _

For the first time, Sherlock realized that waiting for help was just going to lead him to destruction. He had to somehow solve the problem by himself.

_But how? _

Before he could answer the question, the torture began again. Sherlock for the first time, Sherlock screamed at the top of his voice but he couldn't hear himself for the screech was deafeningly loud.

…

Sherlock's captors repeated the process several times until the tall man stopped reacting. His fingers still twitched in agony whenever they played the noise and he was bleeding freely but he had coughed up all his inside and he was so exhausted that he stopped retching. The front of his shirt was damp with vomit and sweat. In one word, he was he was in a completely debilitated state. His chest rose and sank arduously when they left him at peace and silence but it became shallow when they played the music. Although he screamed and groaned in some occasions, the examiners all marveled at how well Sherlock Holmes was taking this. The other test subjects had completely broken down by now, begging and screaming nonsense, but Sherlock Holmes seemed to be completely aware of what was happening to him.

She felt a bit sorry for Sherlock Holmes but at the same time, fascinated by his inhumanely fit mental state. He was battered physically but mentally, not at all. She took signaled the staff with her eyes and walked out of the observation room.

…

The noise still hurt him but Sherlock was relieved that he had vomited all his insides out. The dizziness wasn't as agonizing anymore and the exhaustion was more welcoming than he had imagined. His breathing was raspy and his nose was completely clotted with blood. He barely registered the door slide open and his heart skipped a beat. He strained his ears and tried to look as less groggy as possible. He wanted to show his captors that he was still intact. A towel wiped away the grime and acid on his face and the examiner quickly took his pulse and opened his mouth. Sherlock wondered what she was looking for. Then, surprisingly the restraints around his arms, chest, abdomen, and head were being undone. His upper body was completely free and he wasn't even drugged. If he wanted to, he could probably pounce at his captor and strangle her or bit her, but he had forgotten that he was completely boneless from the long hours of torture and hunger. He had lost more blood than he had imagined. He turned his head to the side and opened his eyes. He saw a white lab coat.

"So you _are_ a doctor." He muttered weakly and swiveled his eyes upward but he couldn't see the captor's face because the light shined too brightly above her head. Sherlock smirked weakly at this.

_Of course, nothing was that easy_.

He closed his eyes as he felt the hands lift his arms up and pull off his shirt. Sherlock lied still with his upper body naked. He was too weak to move his limbs. The doctor wiped his sweat drenched body and face gently. Then, it tugged a fresh shirt onto him. As soon as he was fully dressed again, the hand gently enveloped Sherlock's right cheek. Sherlock wondered why she kept on touching him like that before he passed out.

…

She was planning on sedating him but he seemed to have passed out of exhaustion so she pocketed the injection back and watched as her assistant advanced toward her. They undid the rest of Sherlock's restraints and dragged him out of the room and to the second cell. They placed the limp body back into the dark cell. She did a quick check up on him again before she closed the door behind her. She turned to her assistant as soon as she went out into the corridor.

"He's still in phase1. I think we need to go a little harder on him."

…

Anderson tapped the box of nicotine patches that Sherlock had consumed a few days ago and sighed. The patches were coated with a substance Anderson had never seen or heard of before, but after a thorough research with Sergeant Donovan, he reached to an unexpected conclusion.

"They came from Indiana."

"What?" John, Mycroft and Lestrade said simultaneously. Sergeant Donovan folded her arms and glanced at Anderson. The officer sighed again and handed the box back to John.

"I think that name rings a bell to you, doesn't it John?" John Watson flashed a look of confusion but after a few seconds, his eyes brightened up as he connected two and two together.

"You mean, Liberty Indiana?" John breathed. His heart skipped a beat with anticipation and confusion. Anderson nodded.

"I only found it out by chance because of the Baskerville case from a few months ago. If it weren't for that we wouldn't have been able to make the connection. I contacted them immediately and they confirmed that it was one of their research product. A type of powerful sedative that can be induced through skin contact…"

"Jesus," Lestrade breathed. Mycroft frowned intently.

"And what is a product from a research facility in Indiana doing in Sherlock's flat?" He asked. Anderson shook his head.

"Dunno. But I asked them to give me a list of organization that they distribute this product to. We should be receiving the list any moment now by mail…" Anderson typed in something into his laptop. "There." He turned summoned a document file from the mail and showed it to the others. There was a 4 page long list of various organizations. John gulped.

"Okay…where are we going to start from?"

…

When Sherlock came round again, he was careful not to open his eyes immediately. He checked for any prickling sensation on his skin to see if the overhead light was staring glaring down at him. Confirming that he didn't feel any, he moved his arms and realized that they weren't restrained. He was greeted with the familiar cool surface of the concrete floor in a dark cell. He opened his eyes slowly but found only darkness. He still felt fatigued so he stayed still several more minutes before he carefully lifted himself up. He felt dizzy and dehydrated so he just leaned against the soft wall.

_How am I supposed to get out of here? Who was that woman? Obviously, she's not working alone and this must be some kind of a facility…but what kind of facility? A medical facility, an asylum, a research facility? _

Sherlock realized that by now someone clever enough would have realized that something was wrong with his nicotine patches and started to check them up. He hoped someone would find something out from it. It was the only evidence Sherlock had.

_And I have to do my own research here as well. _

Just then, the door slid open and he heard a pair of high heels approach him. His lips curved upward just very slightly so only he could register it. The figure crouched in front of him just like it did before.

_Improvise as you dig for information. _

He told himself. He widened his eyes and reached forward toward the woman. He knew that the woman can see him through her night vision goggles so he made sure his expressions showed the right emotions. He grasped at the gloved hands and squeezed them tightly. He didn't say a word. He just stared straight ahead of him with wide intense look in his eyes. He mumbled something under his breath. He made sure it didn't make much sense. The woman shushed at him gently and wrapped her hands around Sherlock's shivering clammy one. She leaned closer to Sherlock. Sherlock tensed his shoulders and let out a whimper. Not too loud but not too weak. He tried to lean in closer to smell her. Any type of perfume, shampoo, any sign of cosmetics would help him get a broad image of what she is like. He was disappointed when all he could smell was a faint stench of iodine.

_A scientist, a doctor…I already know that, dammit. Give me something else. _

He decided to go for the direct approach. He reached forward around the area where he guessed was her face. He wanted to see how she looked like. Did she wear glasses? Lip stick? But before the hands could reach her, the gloved hands gently grabbed his wrist and pulled it down. Then, she reached up to his face and examined his eyes, mouth, and throat. Then, she gave him a bottle of water. Sherlock was thirsty but he shook his head weakly and pushed it back toward her. He knew he was going to reverse it all out any time soon. The woman took the bottle back gingerly. She stood up but Sherlock grabbed at her ankle and tugged. She almost tripped over it. Sherlock groaned and looked upward begging. It was pathetic, he knew that, but it was all part of the act. She crouched down back to his side and pulled him closer to embrace him. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. He didn't expect the woman to get this close to him. He tensed his shoulder muscles. The woman leaned forward and pressed he lips gently in his ears and whispered,

"I know what you're trying to do Mr. Holmes." Then, she slid back away from him and strode out of the room briskly. Her heels clucked and echoed coldly in the dark cell. Sherlock ground his teeth in frustration.

_Well that went perfectly smoothly._

He leaned back against the padded wall with a huff.

* * *

_A/N _

_Yep, it's a pretty sick story! _

_I never tried anything like this before but yeah, I decided it was worth venturing out to. _

_I've been taking it rather easily up to here but from the next chapter, it's going to be pretty gory so be careful if you tend to be squeemish with that sort of stuff!_


	3. Chapter 3

_How long have I been here? Oh god, there must be something…there's nothing here. How long have I been here? No, I already asked that question. Stop talking to yourself it's stupid. No, I have to do something. What else am I supposed to do? How long have I been here? Stop._

Sherlock's head was swarming with thoughts but his body couldn't keep up with it. He lost track of time a long time ago. Thirst and hunger was nagging at him and he couldn't move anymore. His head burst with energy and sputtered desperately in times but in other times he found himself drifting drowsily into nothingness. He repeated that several times until the amount of time when he was drowsy became longer and longer.

_I'm probably just going to fall off to my death…_

He thought lazily and closed his eyelids.

…

Search teams in Lestrade's office scratched off several of the organization in the list. There were nearly 40 more companies left to eliminate. John paced outside the office, unable to contribute anything to the investigation. If Sherlock was here, he would have been able to narrow down the possibilities to something as small as 5 in mere few minutes, but if he was here, the search wouldn't have taken place to begin with. John was half fascinated by how in-charge Lestrade seemed to. He was the supreme officer of this investigation and when he said "go" it was go and when he said "stop" it was stop. No one made a fuss over it. The whole operation was slow progressing but smooth, unlike when Sherlock was in charge, where things tended to be fast paced and rather messy. This was what Lestrade is usually like at work. John had only seen him while Sherlock was present. He had never imagined how Lestrade felt when he was treated like an idiot by the consulting detective when in reality; he was a true professional

John felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out hastily and pressed it to his ear. It was Mycroft.

"John, we finally finished the matching."

_About time. _ John thought in his head but he knew that saying it out loud would be indelicate and rude. It has been nearly 4 days since John, Mycroft, and Lestrade started the search for Sherlock. He cleared his throat and edged closer to the quieter side of the office.

"And did you find something?" There was a short pause.

"No."

…

Sherlock thought he heard a distance thud somewhere.

"Is that you?" Sherlock asked in a cracked voice.

_Who am I talking to? John? Wait, where am I? …Oh yes, I'm still locked up. _

The young man kept forgetting where he was. Everything felt so unreal and distant. It was as if time didn't exist. Sherlock was starting to lose track of the chronological order of his memories. He was starting to forget what his life was like before his imprisonment. He rolled to his side and grimaced. The chilling air and the hard floor made his body stiff. He closed his eyes when he heard another distant thud from somewhere. He looked around in the darkness with a start. Was it his imagination? He strained his ears to check but quickly shook his head. He remembered the pain he experienced when he last strained his ears to hear something. His nose still stung from the excessive bleeding.

_Trauma is starting to control me.  
_Sherlock thought to himself objectively before he sunk back to the floor with heavy exhaustion. Sherlock tried to recall the small details of the layout of his flat but despite living in there for such a long time, he couldn't remember half of what was in the sitting room or in the kitchen. It frightened him. He struggled to keep his memory from fading away but Sherlock's brain was going out of control. Isolation and silence made his brain panic and delete vital information from his hard drive.

_We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves. _

Sherlock remembered the familiar saying. He wondered where he had heard of it before.

_Ah yes, 1984._

…

Sherlock Holmes fought hard but the walls were finally starting to crumble. Seven days after the imprisonment, the captors made their next move.

Sherlock heard the door open. He didn't bother moving. He just stayed still, eyes unfocused and stared blankly into nothingness. Suddenly, two firm hands grabbed Sherlock's body and hooked him under his arms. The limp, dangerously thin man was dragged out of the cell and into the bright artificial light. Sherlock was immediately blinded by the light. He closed his eyes shut and hung lifelessly as the two men dragged him into the corridor like a potato sack. They stripped his body and carried him into a separate room with tiled floors and a shower. Before Sherlock knew it, he felt sharp icy water gush down at him. He flinched a little but slumped forward as several people held him up and scrubbed him briskly. It took no more than three minutes before he was dried and dressed fully again. It was like a pit stop in a car race.

Then, he was dumped into a different team, who hauled him into a dimly lit room, where Sherlock was able to open his eyes just slightly and get accustomed to the light. He was forced onto a chair placed in front of a table. His body slumped forward but a pair of hands pulled him back. He heard belts and buckles fasten his limbs and chest to the chair. Sherlock's head lolled to the side. He felt a dull pinch to his left arm. Suddenly, his heart sped up and Sherlock's breathing became shallow. They had injected him with insulin. Sherlock's dilated pupils shrunk into a dot and he squirmed against the restraints. His brain started to spurt again.

_What am I doing here now? What happened to me? What did they do to me? What are they going to do to me? Who are those people standing behind me? _

But no matter how many questions Sherlock threw at himself, he couldn't provide himself with any answers. His deductive skills were close to zero at the moment. A shadow stirred at the corner of Sherlock's view. He felt a familiar pair of hands stroke his left shoulder. Sherlock tried to jerk it off. The hands had neatly manicured fingernails. The fingers brushed against Sherlock's neck.

"Are you hungry?" The woman's voice said. Sherlock's head hung forward lifelessly. He wanted to nod but he couldn't find the strength. A tray was placed in front of Sherlock. A pleasant smell of cooked food wafted over to him. After those long days isolated in complete darkness, Sherlock's nose was able to pick up even the faintest smell. Sherlock's mouth watered. A spoonful of soup was carried to his mouth. Sherlock's lips opened just a crack and a hand carefully took the spoon closer to his mouth and tipped it over, but most of the soup ran down Sherlock's chin. Still, even a drop sent tingles down Sherlock's tongue. His body quivered. A different hand lifted Sherlock's chin up and another opened his mouth. Another spoonful of soup was poured down Sherlock's mouth slowly. He swallowed it with great effort. The process was painfully slow but the consulting detective was so weakened, that he could barely keep up with the pace. He needed time before he was able to swallow the next mouthful. By the time he had finished, an hour and a half had past and most of the food was cold and dry. The woman's hands caressed Sherlock's head from behind him. He still couldn't see any of the staff's faces. He had completely given up trying to deduce their personal background. He let out a faint groan as he was injected with something again. It was something he had never experienced before. His heart sped like mad and his eyelids fluttered from the strange bubbling sensation inside him. The hands held his head firmly in place as Sherlock's body convulsed and suddenly went limp again. The consulting detective's eyes were half opened but glossy. The doctor circled around him and stood directly in front of the limp man. She lifted his face up and examined his eyes. She tapped his cheeks but Sherlock Holmes didn't respond. He was far away by now. She smiled. Now that Sherlock Holmes had been completely degraded, she can mold him into any shape she wanted it to be.

Someone tapped his cheeks and whispered something into his ears. He wanted to swat the voice away but before he could, strong, hard hands took his trembling hands gently. He looked up and saw a pair of dark blue eyes. The man smiled at him. Who was he?

Suddenly another hand enveloped his face and a pair of soft lips pressed against his lips. He opened his eyes wide. A familiar smell wafted into his nose. He thought he smelled this before, but where? The lips parted away from his and this time, he saw a pair of cat-like green eyes. It flashed at him mischievously before it shifted into a different pair of eyes. They were auburn and large. Suddenly, he felt his fingertips tingle. A dull pain erupted in the back of his head and in between the shoulder blades. And then…

His body jerked violently and his eyes flew open as another jolt of electricity ran down his body. A hand slapped his cheek painfully. He bit back the tears and panted wildly. His eyes danced all over the room but all he could see was a desk and a bright light stared in front of him. Suddenly, a pang of fear erupted inside him and he yelped. A gruff voice said to him from out of the darkness,

"What is your name?"

He opened his mouth to say something but the words didn't come out. A jolt of another pain sped past through his limbs and up his neck. He groaned and jumped in his seat.

_Where am I, what's going on? How did I end up here-_

He paused himself as he remembered the painful isolation he had endured for over the past few days. His body trembled and weren't it for the restraints around his body, he would have fallen off the chai after the first shock. His muscles constricted and vibrated helplessly. His teeth chattered.

"Tell me your name." The voice demanded bluntly.

"I'm..." Before he could remember what it was, another bolt, this time stronger, ran down his body and traveled through his abdomen and down toward his feet.

"Name?"

"…Sher-"

"No." Another jolt and the man screamed in agony. The skinny man's stomach convulsed and he gurgled. Bubbles formed in the corner of his mouth.

"Tell me."

"My name is-"

Before he could remember what his name was, his body convulsed violently. He almost bit his tongue but a pair of hands flew around his head and grabbed it firmly. As soon as the electricity current ebbed away, the hand let go of him. A bearded man appeared in front of him and leveled his eyes through his black-rimmed spectacles.

"What is your name?" He pursed his lips and tried to concentrate. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he looked up straight back at the bearded man and widened his grey-blue eyes.

"I…I don't know."

The bearded man smiled smugly for a second but his expression froze. Suddenly, he got to his feet and strode out of the room. The door banged behind the captured man.

Dr. Gail stormed toward her as soon as he left the experiment room. He towered over her and pointed toward the captured man sitting lifelessly behind the observation window.

"What in the world was that?"

"What do you mean?" She asked with a frown.

"He's faking it." He said gruffly. "And he's doing it pretty darn well. I was almost fooled. You told me that he was ready." Her stomach dropped. Of course, Sherlock Holmes was no average human. She should have known that Sherlock Holmes was up to something. She had been completely fooled by his weakened appearance. His mind was still far from being broken down. She squared her jaws and looked up at Dr. Gail.

"Give me two more weeks."

Sherlock was unstrapped. He sighed in his head. The electric shocks had taken him by surprise but he managed to keep his composure. It was a pity that he couldn't quite convince his captors that he was breaking down. He was completely ready to play along their games but he must have slipped something. Perhaps his mouth twitched slightly too often or the foaming wasn't convincing enough. Whatever it was that gave Sherlock's deception away, it was obvious enough that the bearded doctor recognized it. Once he was completely unstrapped, he was dragged to the floor and someone strapped on a pair of black goggled onto him. Sherlock blinked. He couldn't see anything. Then, he felt a piece of cloth being tugged around him. A hand tightened the straps around his waist and back. Sherlock grimaced. He tried to move his arms but the fabric restrained him. He was strapped into a straightjacket. The consulting detective growled and thrashed his legs around but a pair of hands grabbed his ankles and restrained them with chains. Sherlock fought against the hands. He was sick of this game. He wanted out right now. A fist flew to his face and collided into his right jaw.

"Careful!" The woman's voice said.

Sherlock bent his knees and tried to kick the staffs away but they firmly held his squirming body against the floor and he felt another needle being inserted, this time through his neck. He let out a yelp but as soon as the needle was pulled out of him, he was unconscious.

…

John was back to his usual work but he couldn't really concentrate. Even as he was writing the medical records of his patients down, Lestrade and the others were running around, leads after leads in hope for a new clue. Two weeks after Sherlock's disappearance and still 20 more companies to narrow down. Mycroft was currently juggling his usual job at a minor position in the British government and at the same time, was doing anything he could to help Lestrade's investigation run smoother. He gave special access to secretive companies and gave a go sign to any search warrant. Still nothing came up.

When he got home from work, he was greeted with Mrs. Hudson, who was as worried as John about Sherlock's disappearance. John checked his phone every few hours, hoping for a mail from Sherlock saying that he was okay. He racked his head and wondered if there was anything he could do to help. He phoned Lestrade twice a day, once in the morning and once at night, asking for any news.

"We've found nothing, John. We just don't have any idea. I have Detective Inspector Dimmock's team checking through anyone that might want to hurt Sherlock. It's a pretty long list …well you know the thing with Sherlock…he's doing a thorough job though. Don't worry John, we'll find him." The last sentence didn't seem very confident to John. Lestrade's voice sounded haggard and grim.

…

Sherlock hugged his knees in front of the crackling fire place. The fire danced and mesmerized him, but he couldn't feel the warmth that was supposed to be radiating from the brilliant orange. He closed his eyes and huddled against the couch. The little boy's black curls hung loosely around him. He was so alone, hungry, and confused. Where was everyone? Where did his father go? Mother? Mycroft? The house felt vast and dark for the boy. There was no sign of life in here. He had to get out of here. Out of here…out of here…

_I have to get out of here. _

Sherlock thought desperately and thrashed his body around as the drug started to ebb away. He banged his head against the hard cold floor. He hoped the goggles would slip off his head but they were strapped firmly around his head. A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and dragged him to the side. He jerked around and tried to bite the hands. A hand flew at his jaws and held them tightly.

"Let go of me!" Sherlock roared. He had kept his patience for a long time but this was it. He knew that screaming and shouting was no use but he couldn't hold his temper. He had to do something, not just miserably wait until he was tortured. The hand hardened its grasp around Sherlock's jaws. A needle was injected into him again.

"No!" Sherlock shouted. "Stop, I've had en-" Before he could finish the sentence, Sherlock's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped down onto the floor.

As soon as he was sedated, the medical staffs undid his straightjacket and inserted an infusion into his arm. He was a valuable test subject. They had to make sure he didn't die of starvation or malnutrition. Sherlock Holmes's eyelids fluttered when they took off the goggles. The doctor examined his complexion.

"A bit worn out but nothing critical." She remarked. "Keep giving him the medication I listed up. Don't let him gain consciousness for the next two weeks." She instructed coolly. "And, watch him carefully. He tends to be manipulative and he fakes his symptoms…a lot. If you doubt him for even a little bit, drug him immediately."

…

It was two weeks later when John received a call from Lestrade at 4 in the morning. He grumbled but as soon as he saw Lestrade's name on the screen, he leaped out of his bed and grabbed the phone.

"John," Lestrade's voice sounded shaken. "John," It almost sounded as if Lestrade was about to cry. "John,"

"What, what's wrong, did you find something?" The doctor asked, alarmed by the detective Lestrade's lack of composure.

"Nothing, there was nothing!" He exclaimed. "I-I don't get it. Nothing! We checked them thoroughly, we found nothing, John!" John's heart sank. So they had been investigating for a dead end this whole time.

"What about Dimmock? Did he find anything?" He asked with a tone of desperation in his voice. There was a short pause as Lestrade tried to straighten himself up.

"He's still halfway through. We're going to back him up now that we're done with here…" Lestrade's voice trailed off. "I-I…John I'm really sorry." He breathed heavily.

"It's too early to apologize." John pressed firmly. "Is there anything I could do to help? What did Mycroft say?"

"I still haven't called him. There's not much you could do at the moment. We don't even know the motive for all this." Lestrade sighed. John massaged his eyes and sat back down on his bed.

"I have no idea either…Surely it can't be Moriarty. It's just not his style. It's too straight forward." John muttered.

"I agree."

"He's obsessed with Sherlock but he always wants _him_ to solve the puzzle. Not us."

"But if it isn't him, who is it?"

"I have no idea." John breathed desperately.

…

In times Sherlock blacked out completely. In other times he was left in a state of half paralysis, drooling freely onto the cold pavement. The goggles were strapped firmly on and so were his restraints. Not only was he trapped but he was losing all his senses. Sometimes they gave him something that made him feel like he was in a state of free fall. Other times, they injected something that made him have strange flashback of his childhood. Most were episodes that he was surprised that he even remembered. In other times, they gave him a sedative that made him unconscious for hours. When he woke up, he noticed that he was freshly cleaned and changed but before he could make anything else out, another injections was given, making him fall into another state of delirium.

He thought of running to his mind palace in times but even that became more and more difficult as they increased the dosages of hallucinogens. He started hearing things. They were usually high pitched screeched that made the back of his hair stand up. He recalled the torturous memory and moaned helplessly in half delirium. When this happened, someone gave him another dose of sedative, leaving Sherlock in complete darkness. He stopped wondering how long time had passed since he was kidnapped. It was as if time didn't exist. What felt like five seconds could have been hours in reality. Sherlock had lost his trust toward his senses and instincts. He felt strangely alienated from reality. He even thought he was dead in times. Sometimes, just sometimes, he would dream about his child self but he no one else would appear in his dreams. He can't recall their faces. He couldn't remember how his parents looked like or how Mycroft scowled at him. John's face was foggy too and so was everyone else's. Sherlock used to be good with faces and recognizing small details but now everything was so vague. He couldn't remember what London was like. He couldn't remember where he had grown up. He forgot about the chemical experiments he had done and the numerous cases he had solved.

_What was the name of that grey haired man I used to see every once in a while? What did my land lady look like? Hell what was her name? Land lady? Did I have a flat? Who is that foggy man I keep seeing in my dreams? My dreams? Me? What about me? What's my name? Who am I? What am I? Where am I?_

…

Sherlock Holmes moaned more often in his sleep. At first, she thought he was faking it again but she saw him gradually loose his composure. His posture slumped. He curled up into a small, vulnerable ball and shivered. In other times, he drooled helplessly and mumbled nonsense. She paid close attention to his random rambles. In the beginning, it used to include short, imaginary conversations and several names were mentioned such as _John _and_ Lestrade_ and she recognized them from the background research report. They were his close acquaintances. But as the days passed by, they appeared less and less in Sherlock's rambles and soon after, Sherlock only mouthed complete nonsense. She knew that he couldn't be faking it. After a series of drug induction, there was no way Sherlock Holmes was able to survive from cognitive deprivation. No matter how strong he was, the chemical effects were over powering him. She tapped a pen against her lips lazily. It was time.

…

His body jerked violently. His hands shook despite the fact that they had released the button a long time ago. His eyes swerved uncontrollably as he came around again. Numerous electrodes were attached to his forehead and around his outstretched arms. They pressed the button again. The alarmingly skinny man let out a screech of agony and shook his head from side to side. His back arched and he threatened to break the restraints. His left ankle was already sprained from his earlier attempt to escape the pain. He ground his teeth and banged the back of his head against the table.

"Stop him." She ordered briskly as several staffs ran toward the test subject and restrained his head down.

"I…I want to…Stop, stop…" The man was sweating freely and his shirt was already drenched. His teeth chattered. She pressed the button again. This time, the man started to convulse so violently that when she released the button, he had urinated freely. He was panting heavily and before she knew it, he turned his head to the side and wretched as he vomited bile. They had been working at him for nearly two hours and he was still conscious. It was amazing. She turned toward Dr. Gail and nodded. He nodded back in reply and raised a microphone to his mouth.

"Tell me your name." He said dryly. The body tensed.

"I…I swear, I don't…don't k-know…!" He exclaimed with a cracked voice.

"How old are you."

"…."

"Answer the question."

"I DON'T KNOW!" he wretched and vomited again. "Oh god…" He murmured. His eyes were wide but unfocused. Tears welled up in his eyes. "Please stop this…why are you-aaaah!" He trembled as the doctor sent a weaker voltage down through the man's frontal lobe and arms. As soon as the trembling stopped, the ma began to whimper and sob. He looked up at the ceiling.

"Help…please help…" He mumbled deliriously. He looked nothing like the man they knew before. Dr. Gail gazed down at her with a gleeful look in his eyes.

"We're ready."

…

His body ached and burned. He even _smelled _burnt flesh. His head ached and his eyes rolled into the back of his head once a while and his body trembled.

_Why did they keep asking for my name? What is my name? _

He tried to remember but every time he racked his head, a pang of unknown fear exploded inside of him and left him cowering and shivering. Every time he saw a light flash, his body jerked and when he heard loud noises, it made his ears ache and made him vomit. He was dragged out of the room and dumped into the shower room where cold water ran freely over his back. He just lied on the floor naked and boneless. He vomited a couple of times in the shower as well. Then, his slippery, wet, pale body was dragged out of the room, dried and he was dressed in the usual plain black shirt and trousers. They injected something into him that made his heart race. He panted heavily and his vision swam as they dumped him into a stretcher and carted him off to somewhere else. He had no idea where he was. Everything was a blur. His back and leg ached. He couldn't move a single muscle without experiencing sharp pain in his limbs and head. Tears ran freely down his cheek and he couldn't control it. His fingers twitched and his spontaneously convulsed. Men and women held him down while he violently shook. They strapped him back onto a different table and at that moment, everything snapped back into place. Memories exploded inside of his head and he screamed with the searing pain. His heart raced like made and pounded against his chest.

_Sherlock Holmes, I'm Sherlock Holmes…god, what have they done to me? How long was I out? _

His hands flew toward the nearest medical staff. He grabbed the front of his coat and tugged him violently towards him but before he could do anything, the other staffs let out a shout of alarm and wrestled him back on the table.

"LET ME GO!" He roared and thrashed around. He panicked as electrodes were fastened onto him again. His eyes widened. He vaguely remembered the pain he had experienced a few minutes ago. His hands shook with horror. "No, stop…!" He begged but before he knew it, another powerful bolt ran down his body, shattering every single muscle structure. He gritted his teeth. His train of thoughts snapped. Sherlock Holmes was gone again.


	4. Chapter 4

_William…William…._

_Who is that touching my fingers? _

_William, please wake up._

_Now someone's stroking my cheek… _

When he opened his eyes, his body reacted immediately to the glaring lights. His limbs jerked and he tried to sit up. His back bolted from the bed sheets. A hand firmly pressed against his shoulder. He panicked, tried to shrug it off, and breathed hard through his clenched teeth.

"Hey, hey relax, relax, you're okay now. It's all okay." A voice cooed gently at him. He turned his head to the right toward the voice. A woman was sitting at his side. She had auburn eyes and long hair that matched her eyes. Her hair was tied up and she wore a cream colored trench coat, white shirt and jeans. She smiled gently at him. Her eyes watered. "Oh thank goodness you're awake." She breathed and cupped his face with her long fingers. She leaned forward toward him to kiss him but he shrugged away. The woman flashed a slightly hurt expression on her face. He stared back at her with slightly widened eyes.

"Will? You alright?"

_Will? _

She ran her hand along his short hair. Her brows furrowed into a pained expression and her eyes moistened even more. He wondered what he had done to her to make her so sad.

"Who are you?" He croaked. Her face froze.

"You…You know me." He frowned and shook his head slightly but stopped immediately and winced. His neck ached.

"I-I don't think we've met" There was a moment of silence as she stared back at him with a look of astonishment and shock.

"You don't remember me? Will, it's me remember? It's me." She begged at him. A tear rolled down her cheek and suddenly, he didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth and closed and opened it again. "Oh no, no, don't tell me…please." She squeaked and hugged him. She pressed her head into his neck which made him wince from the dull pain. "You remember me right? You know my name, right Will?" He couldn't say anything. She peeled herself away from him and looked at him straight in the eyes.

"It's me, Irene. Irene Adler." He blinked. Something nagged at the back of his head. Irene Adler? He's never heard of such name before. Or has he? He took his eyes away from her and looked at where he was sitting. It was a bed with clean white sheets. He looked at his arms and flinched. Before he even knew it, his hands flew at the electrodes attached to him. Something about it frightened him.

"No, don't!" Irene yelped and seized his hands. His hands shook and his breathing was uneven. He yanked against her grasp but she pulled his toward her and hugged him again. She stroked his broad back comfortingly. "Relax, just relax. You're okay now. It's all okay now, Will." Something about the way she stroked him made him relax. His hands reached around her hesitantly. Once he caught his breath, he pulled away and tried to clear his head but the harder he tried, the more his temple ached.

"Where am I?" He finally asked. She smiled.

"Hospital. The doctors said they almost lost you. You were lucky. If the voltage was any higher, you would have been long dead." He frowned.

"Voltage?"

"You were electrocuted. Don't you remember?" He looked down at his hands and thought hard. He had to close his eyes when a searing pain suddenly erupted in the back of his eyeballs. "You were hit by a lightening. You were out for weeks." His fingers trembled.

"I…I…What?" He couldn't make sense of it. What was happening here? What happened before that? Who was he? Who is she?

"Hold on, I'll call the doctors." She leaned forward and kissed him in the cheeks. Then, she disappeared through the door. As soon as she was gone, he lifted the sheets and examined himself. He touched his face and hair. He tried to move his joints but most of his muscles strained against him and his fingers didn't really react to his command. He pushed the heels of his hand into his eye sockets and sighed. He wanted to turn off the lights. They were too powerful and made his head ache. He tried to slide out the bed to reach the light switch but he felt something yank at his right leg. He looked down to see it cuffed to the bedpost. He frowned and examined his left ankle. They were swollen and bandaged. He didn't know what to make of it. He gave up turning off the lights and buried himself back into the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what happened but all he could see where white flashes and it made his chest pang. He heard the door open so he sat back up again laboriously. A bearded doctor and several nurses entered the room followed by that woman called Irene.

"Mr. Crawford, how are you feeling?" The doctor sat at the chair where Irene had just been sitting and reached toward him.

"Crawford? Is that my name?"

"Ah…I see. Amnesia." The doctor said and examined his eyes and mouth. Then, he felt around his neck.

"Any pain?"

"Hurts when I move it." The doctor nodded.

"It'll get better in a few more days. The stiffness in the rest of your body would ebb off in a week or two." He nodded numbly. "But for the time being, we need you to be in here. At least until we run the final check-up. Then, you can go back to your house."

"Okay…um…er….where do I live again?" The doctor placed a stethoscope on his chest. His skin stung and he gasped. Something flashed in his head and his fingers increased its tremble. The doctor noticed this and he nodded to one of the nurses. The medical staff handed the doctor a syringe and a needle. "Wh-what is that?"

"Something to calm you down." He leveled the needle at his outstretched arm. He pulled it away. "Mr. Crawford it's all okay." He stretched his arm out hesitantly and looked away from the needle. Once the syringe was injected, the doctor patted his shoulder reassuringly.

"Mr. Crawford, you're suffering from temporal amnesia caused by the shock of the lightning strike. It's not permanent, but we can't really be sure when your memories would return. It could be tomorrow or it might take…years." The doctor started to explain. "The more you interact with your possessions and friends, the more likely to recover quickly. Now Miss. Adler here has promised to take care of you until then. It's going to be hard in times. At first you wouldn't recognize anything and it might frighten you, but keep trying." It took a moment for him to digest what the doctor had said to him.

"So-so my name is Crawford?"

"Yes, we could start from your name. Your name is William Crawford. You're a musician." Nothing rang any bells for him. "And this is Miss Irene Adler." Irene smiled down at him. William blinked and ran a hand down his hair. "She's been living with you for quite a while."

"She what?" William widened his eyes and gawked.

…

Sherlock opened his eyes in the dark. He looked to his side to see a vital monitor beeping away. He flexed his finger and arms. He was inside a bed. It's been a long time since he had slept on a bed. He searched the room for a clock but there was none. The curtains were shut but it looked like night time. He tried to get out of bed but his right leg was secured to the bed. He squared his jaws. He suddenly remembered that he was captured.

_Where am I now? _

His body was still weak and his head was slow moving. Details came slowly to him and it took time for him to be able to register all of it. Suddenly, the door opened and the bearded doctor with the spectacles walked in. He froze at the doorway when he saw Sherlock awake.

"Not sleeping well, Mr. Crawford?"

"Crawford? What are you talking about?" He asked suspiciously and tugged at the restraint under the sheets. The bearded man's eyes flashed in the semi darkness. He edged closer toward him. "What are you going to do to me now?" Sherlock asked coldly. "I've had enough of this. How long was I out?" The doctor didn't reply. Before Sherlock could utter another world, several medical staffs hurried into the room and took Sherlock's arms. "Let go." Sherlock growled dangerously and resisted but his muscles ached all over the place. "I said let go of me!" He demanded but the doctor edged closer and closer to him until he was towering over Sherlock. He pulled out a pen light and flashed it at Sherlock's eyes. Suddenly, the consulting detective's body bolted and he screamed. Unwelcomed memories flashed behind his eyes and his body tensed. The doctor took advantage over this and inserted a needle into Sherlock's arm. He slumped back into unconsciousness in less than five seconds.

"Remarkable." The doctor murmured and turned to the other staffs. "Keep a close eye on him and make sure Sherlock Holmes doesn't get any stupid ideas. If he wakes up, knock him out. And if that doesn't seem to be working, we'll need to shock him a couple more times. Remember, he's very manipulative. Keep a very, very close eye on him."

…

Will stood in front of the mirror and furrowed his brow. He had a black shortly cropped hair and sharp blue eyes. He seemed to be underfed and his cheekbones jutted out. He was extremely pale and when he looked at his chest, he saw several burn marks from the lightening. He lifted his chin up and stroked it with his right hand. He needed a shave. He touched his neck and massaged them just like the doctor had instructed to. A knock came from the bathroom door.

"You alright in there?" It was Irene.

"Fine…just…trying to remember my face." He muttered. Irene peeked inside and slipped beside him. She hugged him from behind and looked straight back at him through the mirror. She smiled and kissed his shoulder. William shirked away and gently set her aside.

"Look…I'm not really comfortable with all this…"

"Yes, of course." She coughed in her hand. "Technically you don't know me. We can take time. It's okay." She shrugged carelessly but her eyes showed a hint of pain. He sighed.

"Thanks, I really appreciate that." He tried to smile back but failed miserably.

"You need to eat."

"Hm?"

"You lost so much weight."

"Was I fatter before?" He asked curiously and examined his body through the mirror. His arms were bony and so were his face.

"No, just…you lost a lot of muscle. The doctor told me that you should gradually increase the amount of exercises." Will nodded. Then, he pinched his gown and frowned.

"What do I usually wear?" She smiled.

"The usual stuff. I'll show you your wardrobe once we get home."

"How long have we been living together?"

"A year." All William could do was blink.

"How…did we get to know each other?" She laughed dryly and sighed.

"You really don't remember?" A moment of silence hung as he racked his head but he gave up. Nothing other than a slight migraine came up. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a step away from the mirror.

"Right, I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, you don't have to apologize." She said and stroked his shoulder. Remembering that he didn't like to be touched, she bit her lower lip and let her hand slip away after a while. "Let me get you a razor or something to shave with."

…

John sat in front of his laptop and opened his blog. The page was still left blank. He hadn't written anything ever since their last case. Sherlock's disappearance was unannounced. He skimmed though the previous updates and placed his chin on his hand. He smiled sadly every now and then when he came across comments that Sherlock had written in his blog. John missed his rants and sarcasm. John noticed that over the past few months, the amount of comments and views had increased rapidly. First it was just him, Harry, Mrs. Hudson and Mike who commented on his posts but later on came Sherlock, Sally, Molly and people he didn't even know. However, John noticed that several comments left by the username "anonymous" were actually from Moriarty. John didn't notice it at first. He thought it was just another obsessed Sherlock fan and he ignored it but now that he read back, all the taunts and the gleeful comments stank of Jim Moriarty. John shivered. The way Moriarty idolized Sherlock was almost scary. Some of the other comments showed similar signs of idolization but they were all harmless supporters. Unless…

Suddenly a thought nagged in the corner of John's head. He scrolled though his earlier updates and listed up all the usernames of the commenters.

…

William closed his eyes and leaned back against the bedpost. The tune of the violin flowed gently from the portable speakers the Irene had brought from her home. It started off slow and melancholic but it gradually quickened its pace and the tune became higher than the beginning. It trilled in times and drawled in others. Will had to admit that it was a beautiful piece but he couldn't really feel anything exceptionally amazing about it. The solo violin part seemed to go on forever and ever. Once a while, a piano, viola, or a cello joined in but it soon faded away to leave the violin in solitude. When the song came to its end, Will furrowed his brow and shook his head heavily. He looked at Irene apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember anything." She nodded.

"It's okay, we'll take time." Will swallowed and sighed.

"I don't know. It doesn't feel right. I don't think it's working." Irene leaned forward and gently squeezed his hands.

"The important thing is not to give up, Will. We'll get there eventually. I promise." She smiled and picked up another CD. "Let's try a different one shall we?" Will eyed the numerous CD disks piled in front of her.

"Did I really compose all that?"

"Mmhmm. You never let go of your violin." Will gazed down at his hands. He couldn't imagine himself playing any of the songs that he had just heard. It was too eloquent for him.

"Wait," he muttered and placed a hand on Irene's hands which held the CD. "I want to listen to…something else. Something that doesn't have anything to do with me." Irene blinked at him.

"Sure…what would you like to listen to?" Will smiled.

"Something you like."

"But I like_ your_ songs." Will shrugged.

"Something new then." Irene placed the CD back with the pile and rummaged in her back.

"Well…I think I do have some songs in my Walkman…" Will sat up and waited patiently as she pulled out a Walkman and a pair of earphones. She handed the earphones over to him but he handed one side back to her. She smiled and stuffed it in her ear as Will did the same. "I have some rock, erm…a bit of pop…" Will bit his lip.

"Anything a bit more…quiet?" He asked shyly.

"How about blues jazz?" Will nodded. Once she hit the play button, Will closed his eyes and listened quietly. Only after listening for the first few seconds, Will realized that he liked it very much. In fact, he was completely engulfed in it.

"Like it?" She asked. Will just nodded.

"Irene?" He finally asked. "Did I play anything other than the violin?"

"Well, you were very good with music. So I guess you can but…I've only seen you play the violin." Will opened his eyes and frowned at her with astonishment.

"Really?"

Despite the fact that Irene had brought in so many CDs that Will had composed, he spent the next hour listening to jazz. Irene seemed to be slightly troubled by this but she let him do whatever he wanted and never pushed him hard.

"We'll take our time." She said repeatedly. After she helped him eat his lunch, Will was escorted to the physical rehabilitation center where he did some basic muscle stretches.

Will was incredibly unnerved by strangers and his surroundings so he started off in a private quarter with his personal trainer and Irene but after a few days, he agreed to go to the gymnasium where other patients were present. He gripped his hand tightly every time he saw a medical walked past him. Something about them frightened him. He looked up at the high ceiling and almost collapsed when he saw the halogen lights shining down on him.

"You alright?" Irene asked. A bead of sweat trailed down Will's temple.

"Yes…I mean…N-no." He froze at the spot. "Can I er…can I sit down for a moment please?" He stuttered. His personal trainer nodded and helped him onto a bench. He sighed and hid his face into his shaking hands.

"Will?" Irene's voice asked worryingly. "Will?"

_Why are you calling me Will? _

Sherlock frowned and raised his head. He wondered where he was. He was in an open space; a gymnasium. A woman was sitting to his right and a man dressed in a white medical wear was sitting to his right. He bolted to his feet and looked around him. He looked down at his hands and feet. They weren't restrained and he felt a lot better than he remembered.

"Will, are you okay?" The woman said. Sherlock immediately recognized the voice. He scowled at her. She wasn't dressed in the white lab coat anymore. She wore a casual outfit. Her auburn eyes stared at him worryingly. The expression was so gentle that for a second, Sherlock wondered if he was seeing things.

"What did you do to me?" He blurted and took a step away from the bench. Something flashed in the two people's eyes and Sherlock immediately knew that something was wrong here. The last thing he remembered was the bearded doctor. Yes, where was he? He turned around to make for the doorway but he found himself blocked by a guard who was advancing toward him from behind. He was even taller than Sherlock. He tried to dodge him but a different guard arrived and shot a Taser gun at Sherlock. The wire nailed him in the shoulder and he let out a yelp as he crumpled to his knees and fell on his stomach. The familiar pain ran down his body and he panicked. Tears burst from his eyes and he clawed at the wire desperately. A guard straddled his back and pulled his arms behind his back. Sherlock was forced into a vulnerable position and couldn't move. He tried to twist his torsos around but his muscles still ached. His hands were cuffed and someone dragged him up to his knees. A punch landed on his chin and he heard a woman gasp from a distant. Sherlock gazed up at the guard with eyes that shined with vicious anger but he couldn't do anything else. A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him toward the doorway. Sherlock planted his feet onto the floor and tried to resist but he was punched in a abdomen. His knees gave out again and he doubled over. Taking advantage over this, the guards dragged him out of the gymnasium.

Sherlock growled and thrashed around but five against one was no match for the already physically battered Sherlock. He was pushed into a room with bright lights.

"No…" He murmured as he recognized the white walls and the bright ceiling. "Please, don't do this." He widened his eyes and turned toward the guards. Several medical staffs poured into the room as well and strapped something onto Sherlock's neck. "Wh-what are you doing?" Sherlock stammered. His anger was immediately extinguished by fear. He didn't like this room. It was too familiar. The staffs tugged something onto Sherlock and one signaled something toward the doorway. Sherlock gawked as a powerful force pulled at Sherlock's neck and dragged him up to his feet. He was strapped onto a collar and his whole body was being pulled up vertically like a snare. He stretched his legs and tried to catch his balance. The collar dug into his neck and he couldn't breathe properly. His hands were still cuffed behind his back. The collar stopped pulling so that Sherlock was barely able to stand on his toes. If he tried to plant his feet to the ground or bend his knees, the collar dug into his windpipe and choked him. Sherlock breathed through his nose and glared at his captors.

_Fuck you._

For the first time he wanted to swear at them but the worlds wouldn't come out. Breathing was all he could do. His eyesight blinked. He wheezed and squirmed around but stopped immediately when he realized that all it did was make his breathing even more difficult. His knees shook. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again his captors had left the room, leaving Sherlock in a vacant, bright, white space. The lights weren't as bright as before but he noticed a small white noise erupt from the corner of the room. Dread bloomed inside Sherlock and it made him sweat.

_Not again._

He squeezed his eyes shut and embraced for the torture.

Dr. Gail arrived at the observation room right after she did. He nodded at her and then looked at the one way mirror where Sherlock Holmes was squirming around.

"5 days…He held longer than I thought." Gail remarked with a satisfied expression. Sherlock Holmes stopped squirming and tried to regain his composure.

"Yes, I think so too." She replied and pressed the play button. Then, she opened her PC and started updating her log. "I found something very interesting."

"What?" Gail asked, eyeing the captured man as he started to wretch.

"His taste. It changed." Gail raised his eyebrows and turned to her.

"Really? How so?"

"I made him listen to some of the music he composed. He-or William- didn't show any sign of interest. Instead, he showed great interest to jazz." Gail smiled. She glanced at Sherlock Holmes who was doubling over and bleeding freely from his nose again but he still managed to stand on his toes. Just when he was about to collapse from lack of air, she pressed the stop button. Sherlock Holmes immediately relaxed but not too much for he still had to hold himself upright. Without hesitation, she pressed the play button again.

…

John slapped the list onto Lestrade's table with excitement. Lestrade leaned forward and skimmed through it quickly. He frowned.

"What's this?"

"My blog…I think…I don't know I might be wrong but I think whoever kidnapped Sherlock reads my blog." Lestrade's eyes widened. "Moriarty found out about Sherlock through the internet. He left lots of comments on Sherlock's site and mine. But Sherlock shut down his blog a few months ago. I think the kidnapper found out about Sherlock through my blog." Lestrade leaned back on his chair and stroked his chin.

"So you're saying there's another Moriarty out there?"

"I don't know maybe. But I wouldn't be surprised if there was someone as obsessed as him out there somewhere."

"Well…I guess we could check off the usernames one by one through their IP address…" Anderson remarked. They had all reached a dead end a few days ago. They were prepared to grasp at anything they could find. John nodded.

"But who in the world would want to kidnap Sherlock? A crazy fan?" Lestrade asked more to himself than to John.

…

Sherlock couldn't hold himself upright anymore. His neck ached from the strain and he wheezed heavily. His face was red and blood ran down his nose and stained the front of his shirt. The collar crushed his throat, making it difficult for him to vomit. The white noise stopped playing but he knew that it was going to start once he caught his breath. He gritted his teeth and looked at the closed door. It was only a few meters away. He grasped at the hand cuffs but he couldn't unlock it. His knees shoot. A bead of sweat fell into his eye and stung. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to rest. Sherlock closed his eyes and let his knees give in.

She shot up straight out of the chair and bolted out of the observation room when she saw Sherlock Holmes let go. She never expected him to give up so quickly. She had gotten used to the consulting detective's persistence that she thought he would hold on until he passed out or at least for another hour or two. Dr. Gail must have been thinking the same thing for he had walked out of the observation room fifteen minutes into the experiment for a coffee break. She threw the door open and dashed toward the limp figure hanging from the noose. She stuck her hand into the pocket and rummaged for the key. She hurried behind Sherlock Holmes and reached up to insert the key into the collar to let him down but she was too short that it took a few second before she was able to find the keyhole. She yanked at the restraints and released the noose. Sherlock's limp body immediately fell to the floor. She kneeled beside him and flipped him over. She checked for his breathing and her heart skipped beat when she couldn't feel any air coming from his nose. But after a few seconds, he choked up some bile and breathed in heavily. His eyes fluttered open but immediately rolled back into his head before he could register anything. She undid the collar around his neck to reveal a raw bruise on his pale skin. She turned him to his side and rubbed his back. Sherlock Holmes coughed up some more vomit and lied limp on the matted floor. Two of her assistants dashed toward her.

"Take him to room 14 and keep him drugged for a few more days. We'll try again."

* * *

**_A/N_**

**_A bit of a shift in the story!_**

**_Don't really want to bore you guys with continuous scenes of solitude, darkness and drugging ;) _**

**_But don't worry, there'll be a bit more Sherlock torture moments, both physically and psychologically! _**

**_You'll also gradually start to see what the captors want to do with poor Sherlock. _**

**_Oh, and I decided to have "Irene Adler" use Walkman instead or iPod because I'm a bit of a Walkman fan myself. _**


	5. Chapter 5

One month ago...

"William, are you okay?" Will lifted his head up as a hand gently brushed his wrist. They were sitting face to face at a table set in a corner of a restaurant. The buzzing noise of the crowd returned to William. He blinked and opened his mouth slightly. Irene was gazing at him with a concerned look. "Is it the headache again?"

"What ? Yes...yes, I'm okay. I'm quite fine." William smiled at her reassuringly despite the fact that he felt a dull pain at the base of his head. He squinted at the plate in front of him. His food was barely touched. He fumbled around with the fork and tried to twirl the pasta around it but his fingers trembled slightly. He squared his jaws and made an effort to try to conceal it. Irene squeezed his left hand.

"Will..." She started.

"It's okay, I can manage." But Will's concentration was ebbing away. He wasn't hungry at all. He gave up trying to scoop the food up and reached for the glass. He slowly drew the wine glass to his lips and took a few sips. Irene didn't leave her eyes from him and just kneaded his hand affectionately. William grasped it back and squeezed it as a sign of gratitude. He leaned back against his chair and looked around. People were everywhere and looking at his surroundings made him fidget. He never felt comfortable in a crowd. Not after the lightning strike. He slipped his hands away from Irene's and stood from his chair.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" He asked politely and hurried off toward the restroom. He approached the sink and started to wash his hands frantically. He didn't know why. He just needed to do this once in a while to calm himself down. Then, he scooped some water up in his hands and splashed them on his face gently. He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. Leaning against the sink, he looked at his own reflection in the mirror. He looked healthier than before. Although he was a bit too thin, according to Irene, the colors in his face returned. His light blue eyes shined brightly. His hair had grown a little longer and he had his curly bangs swept elegantly to one side. He was dressed in a sharp slim cut suit and a blue tie. Tonight was a date with Irene. He didn't really want to call it a date. Irene was nice to him and took care of him very well but he still wanted to consider her just as a close friend. It was her who had suggested the two go out and have dinner at somewhere they used to visit a lot before Will lost his memory.

"It might jog things up a little and besides, I think it's about time you get used to the outdoor air."

A few days ago, the doctor had let William leave the hospital and live with Irene. He still had to visit the hospital once a day for checkups but other than that, he was free to do anything he pleased. William found out that the two lived in a nice flat not too big and not too small. There was a special room for Will where he had all his instruments kept. Irene told him that he used to be cooped up in there all the time, composing and recording but now, Will rarely went inside. He found a violin neatly tucked in a case and placed in the corner of the room. He opened it and lifted the violin up but he couldn't play anything. Somehow, he had completely forgotten how to play the instrument. His fingers shook every time it hovered over the strings and he fumbled with the bow. He tossed it into the case and never opened them again. William brushed the front of his suit and scanned himself over one last time. His hands stopped shaking and the migraines were ebbing away. He took a deep breath and went outside into the crowd again.

When he returned, Irene leaned over and kissed him in the cheek. William tensed his shoulders for a fraction of a second but smiled back tightly. He had expressed his discomfort with her interacting with him in such a manner but the fact they were currently living together made it all the more harder for Will to remind her that. Instead, he tried to deal with it and made an effort not to freak out everyt ime she kissed, embraced, or stroke his hair. He looked down back at his plate but the inside of his mouth dried the moment he saw the contents. His eating habits were slowly becoming normal but he still couldn't consume too much food at once. It just made him return everything out.

"Not hungry?" Irene asked. Will lifted the fork but paced it down again and sighed.

"Irene...I'm sorry. I'm trying but-"

"Will, it's only been a week. I don't expect anything would return that quickly." Irene smiled and finished her glass. "Come on, let's go. You're tired. I think that's enough for the day." Will nodded back with numb feeling.

As soon as he got home, he took a quick hot shower and climbed into his little bed on the family room sofa. Irene had insisted him to take the bed but something about lying on the couch made him calm down. She grumbled that it wasn't decent for an injured man to be sleeping at a couch but she managed to provide him with a comfortable miniature bed. Iren approached him and sat at the foot of the sofa. She massaged Will's left leg and asked gently,

"Does it still hurt?"

"Only when I lean on it." Will smiled and pulled himself up to make more room for Irene. She took this gesture as an invitation and nuzzled close to him. William hesitated for a fraction of a second but he let her lean her body against his. She wrapped her arms around him but remembering what Will said earlier, she pull back with a start.

"I'm sorry. Old habit." Will blinked. Irene strayed her eyes away from his. He slowly stretched his long arms and wrapped it around her. Then, he tugged gently so that she would fall into his embrace. It was awkward and hesitant but the gesture made Irene's eyes widen with surprise. She held him back and the two sat still like that for a few more minutes. Will didn't know if it was the appropriate thing to do. No emotion bloomed from it but he noticed that his head wasn't throbbing anymore.

…

Sherlock's eyes flew open. The first thing he noticed was that his body wasn't throbbing as bad as he last remembered. He placed a finger around his neck where the collar had dug in. there was a faint bruising from it but it didn't hurt nor was it swelling. He noticed that he was lying on a couch. At first his heart skipped a beat, thinking that he was back in his flat but was disappointed when he saw a coffee table he didn't recognize and a large television screen near it. Obviously, this was not his home. As quietly as possible, he crept out of the couch and wandered about the room.

He wondered how long he had been out, and what they had done to him while he was unconscious. He scanned the kitchen and crept out toward the front door. His heart thumped. He wasn't restrained. He could just slip out of here and find his way back to Baker Street. He edged toward the door and placed a hand on the doorknob but froze. Through the window to his side, he saw several shadows looming over it. Of course, there were guards here. Things are never that easy. He slowly edged away from the door and searched for a PC or a phone. He had to contact John. He had to tell him where he was. But where am I? Sherlock saw a phone perched on near the kitchen. He snatched it and started punching in the numbers but he froze. If there were guards, what makes you so sure that they won't be tapping into the phone line? He stared down at phone and took a deep breath. As soon as his captor found out that he was planning an escape, they would give him another session of physical and psychological harm. He shivered and placed the phone down.

Sherlock looked down at his clothing. He wasn't wearing any of those tatty black shirts and trousers, nor was he dressed up in a hospital gown. He was wearing a pair of navy blue pajamas. He frowned down at it and plucked at the fabric. Then he scanned the area once more and crept toward the bathroom. Sherlock found two toothbrushes. He scowled at it. He checked the cabinet and the drawers. All the evidence led to one conclusion; he was living with a woman.

His head swam with confusion. He lacked too many data to come up with a logical explanation. He darted out of the bathroom and checked the other rooms thoroughly. He found a room that looked like a study with numerous instruments like guitars, brass, and surprisingly, a violin. He opened the case and brushed the back of his hand against the smooth wood. He bit his lower lip and snapped the case shut. Then, he crept toward what looked like a bedroom. He saw a figure fast asleep in the double bed. He didn't dare walk inside but he squinted to see who was in the bed. He vaguely had an idea who it was. With a mild sense of disgust, he closed the door shut and paced around the living room. After a few minutes of hard thinking, he stopped abruptly and grabbed a pen that was lying on the top of the coffee table. The last thing Sherlock could remember was the frighteningly painful sensation of hanging from a noose. After that there is a huge blank in between until he finds himself in a house with a woman. He had been active without him acknowledging it. It was like a state of sleep walk. Something had happened to Sherlock's mind. The psychological and physical damage during the past few weeks had been too great for him so his mind had separated his consciousness into two in order to ease the blow of trauma. There is another me inside of me. He thought and frowned. That explains how people had been calling him Will or Crawford. His captors had somehow managed to mold his identity and his other self was convinced that he was William Crawford. Sherlock grasped the pen and stretched his left arm out.

Will awoke the next morning with a faint smell of coffee. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. It was seven in the morning.

"You can sleep a bit more if you like." Irene said from behind the couch. "Or you can have a cup of coffee with me." William smiled and stretched. It's been awhile since he felt so relaxed. He took a mug from Irene gratefully and sat in front of her. "How are you feeling?" She asked.

"Great." He answered in a pleasant tone. She nodded and took a sip from her mug.

"I have to go to work again from today. But you can call me any time if something happens." William nodded. He had heard from Irene that she was a editor in a magazine company. She had taken a three day break in order to take care of Will.

"You make yourself comfortable here and try to get some more rest. I made some lunch for you so if you get hungry, there's a plate in the fridge so just stick it in the microwave and you're good to go."

"Thanks." He said shyly and smiled. Irene stood up and squeezed his shoulder before she went to her room to change. William looked out the window and sat there in silence with a numb feeling. He didn't know what to do. Everything felt so empty.

…

"I couldn't track one of them." Anderson explained. "The address was encrypted and untrackable. One of our techies managed to follow it up to some certain extent but the trail suddenly evaporated." John blinked and exchanged uncertain looks with Lestrade.

"Does something like that happen very often?" He asked. Anderson shook his head.

"There are only two possible explanations to this. Number one, the kidnapper is a very skilled cracker. The second explanation; it was accessed from a highly classified government facility." John's eyes widened. Lestrade bit his lower lip and pulled out his mobile phone.

"I'm going to call Mycroft."

…

William pulled off his shirt and prepared to take a quick shower when he noticed something on his left wrist. He frowned at the black smudge right below his elbow and examined it. He was surprised to find that the smudge was a line of letters scribbled in a neat handwriting. He didn't remember drawing on himself. He brushed his right thumb over the letters and read the words,

_Dear William, _

_My name is Sherlock Holmes. Reply if you see this. _

William smiled. What kind of a game was this? He didn't take Irene as a type of person who played pranks on people. He made a mental note to himself to pay her back. He shrugged and bent over to tug on the waistband of his trousers when he froze. There was another message scribbled on his right hip. It was written upside down so that when he looked down as it, it looked upright. This time, the message was longer.

_John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper, James Moriarty, Irene Adler. _

William stared down at the list of random names for several seconds. Or was it random? Why did it have Irene's name at the end of the list? And somehow, reading the names over and over again made the inside of William's stomach swirl. He dashed out of the bathroom and went to his study, pulled out a sheet of paper and copied the names down on it. He folded the paper and hid it under the violin inside the case. Once he shut the case, he took a deep breath and looked at his left arm again.

_Sherlock Holmes...Sherlock Holmes..._

He repeated in his head. A nagging feeling erupted in his head but he couldn't make out what it was.

_Who are you, Sherlock Holmes? _

…

Mycroft massaged his temple as he listened to Lestrade and John's explanations.

"Oh god, this is worse than I imagined." He murmured heavily. "If what you're saying is true, we might not be able to go any further than this."

"What in the world do you mean by that?" John asked hesitantly.

"It means it might be something I can't control." Mycroft breathed desperately.

"You mean whoever got Sherlock is on _this_ side?" Lestrade pointed at the carpet floor of Mycroft's office. Mycroft nodded and aligned his fingers together just like how Sherlock always did. John's chest felt like it was being squeezed. Mycroft sat up and looked at John and Lestrade.

"I'll try my best." He said in a steely tone.

"You have an idea of where to start or…?" Lestrade asked. Mycroft didn't say anything but both John and Lestrade knew that the elder Holmes knew something that the two didn't.

…

Sherlock found himself staring up at her. He fought the impulse to scramble away from her and held still. He was lying face up on the double bed and the woman was caressing his face in between her hands. Her eyes lacked its usual sharp glare and instead looked glossy and sentimental. She leaned forward and gently pressed her lips against his. Sherlock widened his eyes and stiffened his body. It was then that he realized that his upper body was completely naked. He lifted his hand and gently pressed it against her shoulder but she mistook his message and leaned toward him even further. Sherlock pulled his lips away from her and twisted his body away so that his back was facing toward her. He breathed in heavily and tried to clear his head.

"Will?" She asked in a gentle voice. Sherlock didn't answer. He wasn't Will. Will never exist…but then what in the world was he doing just now? Sherlock tried to remember how he ended up in such a bizarre situation but nothing tied up properly. His method of deduction was next to useless. He was half falling into a state of panic. The woman noticed this and she gently pulled away from Sherlock. The mattress shifted. "I'm…I'm sorry Will." She whispered. "I didn't mean to…" Sherlock closed his eyes. The woman's hand gently turned him around. Sherlock opened his eyes again. She blinked and stared into his eyes with a concerned look. "Will?" Suddenly, Sherlock tightened his fist and squared his jaws. A blaze erupted in his eyes. What was he doing? What was _she_ doing? First she heartlessly tortures her and then she tries to seduce him. He would not let himself tolerate this any further.

"Get your hands off me." He growled in an exceptionally low voice and slapped her hands away from him. The woman's eyes widened with surprise. Then, an expression of realization spread across her face. She reached to the bedside table where her mobile phone was but Sherlock grabbed he wrist and twisted it. She let out a yelp. He pressed her aggressively against the mattress. "Who are you, what do you want from me? _What have you done to me?_" He demanded and pressed her head against the mattress. His hands shook with unexplainable rage. He pressed his face against the mattress for a few seconds, fully prepared to suffocate her if he had to. She let out a muffled voice from under his force. Her hands flailed around but Sherlock ignored them. He pulled her back and demanded for an answer again. He ground his teeth with frustration when he didn't answer. Instead, he lifted her up and pressed her against the bedpost. He could hear her breathing heavily and Sherlock almost felt a sick, joyful sensation from it. His anger was uncontrollable and completely beyond his rationality.

"William…." She croaked but Sherlock shook her violently and growled,

"I'm not William. I'm Sherlock Holmes." He felt her muscles tense as he said this. She tried to fight against his grip but he refused to let go.

"William…" She breathed heavily.

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Sherlock roared but the next moment, a huge pain erupted behind his eyes. He choked and let go of the woman to clutch his head. _No, not now…_ He begged. Through his blurry vision, he saw the woman shift around and reach for something inside the drawer of the bedside table. He bent over and pressed his head against the mattress and moaned. His legs kicked against the pain. Suddenly, an arm lifted Sherlock up and wrapped around his neck. He struggled against it but his limbs didn't listen to him. Before the headache could ebb away, the woman pulled out a Taser from the drawer and pressed it against Sherlock. He screamed as the horrible memories flashed before him and his body convulsed.

She stared down at the tall figure lying unconsciously in her bed. She shivered. She had almost fallen for him and this was the price. She bit her lower lip and grabbed for her mobile. She was wrong. The test subject wasn't complete yet. In fact, she had the feeling that it wasn't working at all. Sherlock Holmes was just another failed experiment.

"It's me." She spoke into the phone. She made sure that her voice wasn't shaking. "I'm sending him back to the lab. No…no, it's not that. It's just that something strange is going on here…" She said cautiously. When she gazed down at Sherlock Holmes's body again, she saw something scribbled on his left wrist with pen. It simply said in a neat handwriting,

_Who are you? _

…

Two weeks ago…

"It's called the neo-MK Ultra." Mycroft began. "It's almost considered something like a myth around here. I mean, it's so bizarre that no one in their right mind believed it really existed." John and Lestrade squirmed in their seats. After a few weeks of no notice, Mycroft had suddenly summoned the two over to his office. It was the longest two weeks that John had ever experienced. Mycroft opened a file on his desk and turned it around for John and Lestrade.

"The MK Ultra is a name of a covert experimental research project the CIA held during the Cold War. " John and Lestrade nodded. They both had heard of the notorious name before. It was a series of experiments illegally executed on American and Canadian citizens focusing on many methodologies to manipulate and brain wash one's mental state. The whole case had been exploited during the 1970s. As a trained medical doctor, John knew that most of the methods used in MK Ultra were unscientific, illogical and close to a brutal child's play. Lestrade flipped through the file and scrunched up his face in disgust.

"Rumor has it that the British government has a special research department for a covert project called The Advanced Criminal Reinstitution Program but we usually refer to it using its informal name; neo-MK Ultra because of its bizarre nature." Mycroft sighed and leaned back against his chair. "The program's main object is to research about the human nature, their psychology, and find a way to institutionalize dangerous criminals so that they can function properly again." John raised his eyebrow.

"And you reckon this exists?" Mycroft shrugged.

"I told you it was bizarre. I have to admit, I never believed it either. I mean, no one in the government have seen any evidence that they exist. It was just a hunch I had when Detective Inspector Lestrade told me that someone's been accessing your blog from a top classified server."

"It could be a hunch but frankly, this doesn't sound very realistic, Mycroft. " Lestrade sighed. "How do we know that we're just chasing down myths out of sheer desperation?" Mycroft grimaced at this question.

"Remember the nicotine patches?" The two men nodded back. "I ran a check for any covert government research facility that had ordered that substance…" John's heart thumped. "I found one facility. But this is a very secretive and very well-protected research team in the government. Even I can't access to it without proper clearance. If we're going to investigate further, we're going to be risking our necks. You understand?" Mycroft stared back at Lestrade firmly. The two were working for the government. If what The Advanced Criminal Reinstitution Program was truly doing anything as equivalent to be called neo-MK Ultra, it would be a total violation against human rights. Investigating this would lead to total exploitation and both Lestrade and Mycroft would literally mean that they worked against the government. There was no guarantee what would happen after that. Surely, they would lose their current occupation. And who knows what might happen to John. Lestrade frowned down at the file and cleared his throat.

"Where do you want me to start from?"

…

Sherlock refused to let them restrain him easily. He thrashed at the medical staffs and bit them when they tried to hold his head down. He shouted abuses that he had never mouthed before in his life. Rage burned inside of him and it was the only thing that kept him from collapsing from exhaustion. He roared when a staff tugged an eye mask over him. It took them nearly 30 minutes to strap him down on the chair and even after they finished, they had to hold him back so that he wouldn't bang his head against the corner of the table. It was the longest fight Sherlock Holmes had ever put up after his capture. She watched the whole scene from the CCTV camera feed. Dr. Gail folded his arms and frowned.

"I see what you mean." He muttered. "He was never this violent." She nodded in return.

"His new identity is nothing like this. It's as if we created two separate people. While William Crawford became more accustom to social life, as Sherlock Holmes, he began to show signs of violent behavior and lack of empathy even far worse than his original state. There's no way you can predict when one switches from the other. One moment you could be having a conversation with William, the next moment, Sherlock Holmes would be back."

"Dangerous."

"Very." She admitted and remembered the way he had brutally strangled her. If the headache didn't take place, she was pretty sure she would have been dead by now. Sherlock Holmes growled something and tugged at the hands around his shoulders. He shook his head violently to the side and then tried to rock his chair. When a hand reached to press his chest against the backrest of the chair, he roared,

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME! ONE MORE TOUCH AND I SWEAR I WILL KILL ALL YOU CUNTS!" She winced at this. It was as if she was looking at a completely different man. This was not William Crawford, and this certainly was not Sherlock Holmes.

"What do you think we should do?" Gail asked.

"We need to erase Sherlock Holmes completely from his brain."

Sherlock gnarled his teeth as the music started blaring loudly in his ears. Instead of being strapped in a bright cell, he was strapped on a chair with a headphone and eye mask. He was injected with a strange drug that made him move slowly and his neck could barely support the weight of his head. The noise was hardly something to be called music. It was just a series of random static, screeches and spontaneous bangs. He tried to make sense out of noise; find a coherent pattern or rhythm but he couldn't find any. Sherlock kept gnarling his teeth and eve bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. After several hours of this, the noise stopped abruptly and switched to a recorded conversation of a man and a woman. It took Sherlock a while to realize that the man's voice was in fact, himself and the woman's was the unnamed female doctor's.

_Remember when we went to Greece together? _

_No, I don't, I'm sorry._

_It's okay. Want to look at some pictures we took? _

_Sure…huh, looks like we had fun. _

_Of course we did. _

_I love you William, I really do. _

_I..I..lo-_

_You don't have to say it. I know you don't. _

_Sorry. Just give me more time. _

_I know._

…_Tell me that you love me again. _

_I love you, William. _

_I love you too, Irene. _

The random conversations went on and on and Sherlock wanted to throw up. He didn't remember saying any of this but it was his voice. Although the tone and the emotions weren't really like him, Sherlock knew that it was his mouth that had spat all those words out at that woman. He was also disgusted at the woman who he referred as Irene in the audio. How could someone like her who had repeatedly abused him, manage to speak to him in such a passionate manner? It was so sick and wrong, yet it was so convincing that if she was acting all this out, Sherlock had to admit that she was goddamn good actor. But Sherlock knew that that wasn't true. He remembered the way she gazed down at him and kissed him. Sherlock was not good with empathy but as a skilled actor, he knew that what he witnessed was not an act. And that made him even angrier. Sherlock thrashed against the restrains violently again and tried to shake the headphone off from his head. He stamped his foot on the floor and swore on the top of his voice in hopes that it would drown the voices from the headphones.

_I love you William. _

_I love you too. _


	6. Chapter 6

One week ago…

Sherlock Holmes was drugged heavily but even during his delirium, the consulting detective fought to stay conscious no matter what .The noise and the voice they played haunted him and by the 7th round, he was able to recite all the conversations in his head line for line but he still stayed awake. He couldn't sleep no matter how exhausted he was. If he let his mind slip away again, he might never wake up and William would dominate his body. He couldn't allow that to happen. The muscles on his neck strained and burned but he couldn't lift his head up. The drug left him boneless. He jerked his head away from time to time when he sensed medical staffs approach him. He tried to kick them away but they usually held him down tightly and injected him with another dose. He wasn't allowed to eat, drink, or go to the bathroom…not that he needed to since he was completely undernourished. All Sherlock Holmes could do now was to hang on to his self as long as he could. He had completely given up on finding a way to escape. All he could do was just wait until it all ended. _When will it end? When I die? _

"Stop…" The strained voice rasped as she changed the track and started feeding random noise at maximum volume. His head lolled from side to side as a feeble attempt to get rid of the headphone. Seeing that the reinstitution program was being executed accordingly, she decided to leave the monitor duty and go back home once to rest. Half of her was relieved to see that the test subject had stopped resisting at last and finally seemed to have succumbed to the treatment, but the other half of her felt slightly anxious about the fact that Sherlock Holmes, or William Crawford, was locked up as well. What if Sherlock Holmes disappeared and suddenly William emerged back? How were they supposed to explain how he ended up restrained to a chair with a headphone and an eye mask? As she drove home, she felt a heavy clump of worry form at the bottom of her stomach.

It was two days later, after she had finished catching up on the observation reports and medical records, when she returned to the monitoring room to see how the reinstitution was progressing. Sherlock Holmes still sat limply in the chair with his hands behind his back and his chin pressed onto his chest. She checked the audio and noticed that they were still playing the same thing. She checked the list of drugs that they have given him. She skimmed through it idly as she pondered what to do next. She noticed that the young man was becoming fatigued both physically and mentally. He was close to the final phase but she didn't want to rush it. She wanted to take every last step cautiously. They had failed many times but she knew that Sherlock Holmes was different. He was special. He was the perfect test subject. He had all the variables she needed and she could not fail this experiment. It was their final chance to prove something.

"He's ready for assessment." She said to her assistant. The staffs nodded and they all filed out towards the experiment room to retrieve Sherlock Holmes. To her surprise, Sherlock Holmes was still conscious although just barely. His breathing hitched when he sensed hands undoing the restraints. He lifted a knee in an attempt to resist but collapsed down immediately. His eye brows furrowed and his hollow eyes stared at the floor as it gradually adjusted to the bright light. He tried to stand up but a staff stopped him. He snarled weakly at them and collapsed back into the seat. She watched beside the door as the limp body was dragged out to be showered before the psychological assessment. As he was dragged in front of her, his fogged, bloodshot eyes shifted toward her and seemed to signal something but she couldn't tell what it was. Was it fear, hate, confusion, or was he begging for something?

_Stay awake, stay awake…_

Sherlock ordered himself desperately as the jet powered water pounded against his back. The fact that he was released from the torturous voices and noise sent a warm rush of relief down his whole body but he knew that he couldn't embrace them yet. If he did, he would fall unconscious and that would be the end of Sherlock Holmes. Something told him that if he closed his eyes now, he would never wake up. A hand lifted his waist and upper body up. He was like a boneless rag doll. His pale blue eyes stared into nowhere and his breathing was shallow. His hands flopped to his side and his body teetered to one side and leaned against the arms of one of the staffs. He wanted strangle them by the neck and press a sharp object to their neck. Then, he would be able to press his way out of this damned facility with a hostage in hand. He had to contact John, Mycroft, Lestrade…a cab would be fine too. He just needed to get out of here. His eyelids fluttered and his range of vision gradually grew small.

_No, fight it. Don't fall asleep. William Crawford does not exist. _

_I love you William. _

Sherlock tensed his body.

_I love you too, Irene. _

_No I don't. _

Sherlock involuntarily let out a groan. He was hearing voices. The real Irene Adler does not look anything like that mad doctor. He tried to recall how she really looked like but everything was a blur to him. He realized that he was dressed in a clean pair of clothes and his hands were restrained tightly behind his back. He was dragged into a familiar dark room with a desk. He shivered. The last time he sat in that room, he was fed food and then was heavily drugged and electrocuted. The consulting detective gurgled and lousily fought against the dragging staffs. He pressed his feet against the floor but they yanked at him violently and tossed him into the room. He fell shoulder first onto the cold floor. Before he could regain his composure, he was pulled up and pressed into the chair. His legs were strapped against the base of the chair and his hands were secured on the armrest. His chest was also strapped across the chair. His head fell forward but he drew them up to preserve his dignity but all he could see was a vague dark outline of a man sitting across the table. He drew in a deep breath. He knew that he had to play along the game. He had to fake that he was William Crawford. He had to convince them -this time completely- that he was not Sherlock Holmes anymore. He mustered his remaining strength for his final act. This could be the only chance to his survival.

"State your name." The man said in a deadpan tone. The corner of Sherlock's lips twitched.

"…William…Crawford." He slurred and his body tensed as he expected a jolt of electric. It didn't come.

"How are you feeling?" A short pause as he assessed the question.

"Tired." He muttered. "Where am I?"

"Hospital. We're going to run an easy test on you to see if you're doing fine." The anonymous man's voice became slightly softer. Sherlock swallowed. "We're going to show you some videos for a few seconds. Then we will ask you some easy questions on it. All you have to do is answer them." Sherlock nodded numbly. The man scooted away and revealed a blank TV screen from behind him Sherlock stared at it with delirious, heavy eyes as it flickered to life. It was footage of a street. Sherlock frowned as he saw a car pass idly across the street. Then a woman walking a dog passed in front of the scene too. He frowned. What was he supposed to be looking at? Suddenly, three more people appeared from the right side of the screen and a man from the other side. Sherlock quickly scanned over all three men approaching from the right but his eyes widened when he registered who the figure on the right was. It was John. The frighteningly familiar man sent a strange sensation down Sherlock's spine. His eyes were glued on the hunched silhouette of John as he strode down the street with a stern face and his hands pushed into his jacket pocket. Sherlock's mouth became dry. All noise seemed to have disappeared from him. His fists clenched against the armrest. As John disappeared from the frame of the screen, Sherlock realized he had forgotten to breathe. He inhaled sharply and blinked several times. The screen went blank again. Sherlock shifted his gaze to the side to see a face staring back at him with a stern look. Suddenly, Sherlock realized what had just happened.

"Got you." The man said in a cold tone.

She closed her eyes and kneaded her forehead when she saw Sherlock Holmes's eyes widen as he stared intently at the screen. It was as if he had snapped out of delirium. When she opened her eyes and lifted her head again, she saw Dr. Gail with his arms folded and staring straight at the test subject.

"We'll need to change our approach to D-12." He declared in an emotionless voice.

Her heart sunk.

"I thought that I made it clear that we weren't going to use that on him." She said firmly. Dr. Gail scratched his nose and answered in a calm voice,

"I was ordered by the chief supervisor."

"What?"

"He wanted a sample result as soon as possible. There's been a change of plan, doctor." He said calmly. Her body started to tremble.

"No one is allowed to interfere with my tests, Dr. Gail. No matter what it is, you have no right to test your sample product on my test subject." Dr. Gail shifted on his feet.

"You have to understand. There's been a report that someone's been investigating against us. There might be a close inspection coming up. The chief supervisor wanted all the results of the sample products by the end of this week. We're going to have to abandon all experiments for the next few weeks for matters of precautions." She opened her mouth in astonishment but had to close them again for she could not find the right words. After a short moment of silence, she opened her mouth again and said warningly,

"That…does not give you the right to inject D-12 into him." She pointed at Sherlock Holmes. "The risks are too high." She blurted. D-12 was a powerful psycholeptic prototype designed to suppress violent behavior and personalities. The drug fulfilled its purpose perfectly, but it was also far from complete and had many side effects including powerful shock reaction and other psychological and physical damage. The degree and typed of damage differed between people. Despite Sherlock Holmes's recent violent behavior, she had strictly ordered the staff to avoid applying the psycholeptic to him.

"For your reminder, he is not just your test subject but also mine too." He snarled back. He advanced toward her and said warningly, "I have allowed you to do whatever you wanted with him but frankly, your method takes too much time and it's slow progressing. The chief supervisor had directly requested me to apply some of my methods to him."

"Your method is too dangerous and risky." She warned. "Sherlock Holmes is a very valuable resource. We can't waste him on something like D-12."

"It's because of him, that we had to try it. We don't have any time, doctor. We need the results now." He said sharply. "With results or not, we are temporarily shutting down the project, understand?"

Sherlock heard a familiar voice shouting as the door whooshed open. He heard several footsteps thud toward him. He drew his head up and looked at the source of the commotion with a dreadful feeling. He was going to be imprisoned and tortured again. Then, he noticed that something was not right.

"Stop, you'll kill him" A voice shrieked. Sherlock's eyes widened as he saw the bearded doctor advance toward him with an injection needle in his hand. He also saw a hand pull at the doctor's arm. It was the woman who called herself Irene Adler. Her complexion was flushed with rage and her voice was hysteric and unnerved. Several medical assistants tried to gently escort her away but she batted at them and tried to block the doctor's way but the bearded man dodged around her and approached Sherlock with a determined look in his eyes.

"He's physically weak. At least wait until he's stable enough for it!" She exclaimed. Sherlock squirmed against the restraints. The woman ran toward Sherlock and stood in between him and the doctor again. "Dr. Gail, I am positive that if you inject him with that right now, he will suffer extreme physical and mental trauma."

"We don't have time. If we wait until he's ready, it will all be too late. It's now or never."

"Then it's never." She said firmly. The bearded man huffed and reached toward Sherlock. The female doctor tried to push him away but instead, she was dragged to the side by the other staffs.

"Let go!" She exclaimed and tried to start toward Sherlock but she was pushed back. "He's not going to survive. This is absurd!" Sherlock gawked as the bearded man gruffly pushed Sherlock's head to the left to reveal his right collar bone. He tried to fight against the hands but they were too strong. The consulting detective closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. "You're going to kill him!" She screamed but the doctor pressed the needle into Sherlock's pale skin.

"That's the point. I have also received orders to leave no evidence once the project is shutdown. If D-12 doesn't work, he has to die anyway."

Sherlock tensed his jaws as he felt the substance being injected. After a few seconds, the hand withdrew and he was swabbed efficiently by one of the staffs. He didn't feel anything unusual in particular other than immense fatigue. He glared up at the bearded face. He heard the woman shout something to the doctor but he couldn't register what it was.

_Stay awake. _

He demanded sharply but his brain was starting to shut down. He forced his eyelids to stay opened. When he opened his eyes, he saw the woman's eyes staring right back him. Her hands enveloped his face as it lifted his chin up. She placed two fingers on his neck to check his pulse. It was only then that he realized that his heart was thumping like mad. His fingers trembled and his teeth chattered. In mere few seconds, he found himself slightly convulsing and hyperventilating. He was sweating like mad and his chest was heaving violently. She tapped his pale clammy cheek with an alarmed voice.

"Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, do you hear me?" The man didn't answer. He just panted heavily and wheezed for air. She lifted his chin higher to clear the airway and checked the door. Dr. Gail was already out the door. She gritted her teeth. She needed to calm his vitals down immediately or he was going to suffer cardiac arrest any moment now. She undid the restraints and the cuffs around his wrist. She barely managed to grab his drenched body before he collapsed to the floor. The man clawed at his throat desperately. She held them down to make sure he wouldn't hurt himself. He squirmed under her grip. His unfocused eyes stared into nowhere. His complexion had turned into a dark shade of red. The arms stopped thrashing and fell limply to his side.

"No, no, no…breathe slowly, Will…breathe slowly. William, please." She begged and brushed the loose strand of hair away from his face. Tears welled up into her eyes. This wasn't happening. This can't happen. She couldn't lose this after all that she had done for him. The wheezing became more violent and beads of sweat ran freely down his temple. The young man's chest heaved several more times before his eyes rolled into the back of his head. "No, no, no, no…" she muttered. She lifted her head up to see a medical staff running into the room with an oxygen mask in hand. She grabbed the instrument roughly from them and placed it over his face. His chest rose and sank violently and the laborious breathing became more audible through the mask. Her stomach lurched. Several staffs helped him onto a stretcher as they carted him off to the intensive care unit.

…

John pressed his face into his hands and sighed heavily. He could not stop thinking about Sherlock. The fact that even Mycroft had no idea where he was was unnerving for the ex-army doctor. Mycroft was currently preparing for an inspection visit to several research facilities. All research facilities except one, was a dummy. Mycroft had decided to approach several places –including Baskerville-in order to avoid suspicion. Lestrade, Mycroft, and John were waiting for the final clearance.

He was about to leave the hospital when he received a call from Mycroft.

"I got clearance. I'm going in two days." He said briskly but there was a slight hint of excitement in the elder Holmes's voice.

"Oh great…great…" John breathed out.

"I'm going in by myself with a few of my secretaries but I can't take you or Lestrade with me. It would arouse suspicion. A Holmes inspecting the facility is suspicious enough. Under the circumstances however, I may fake my ID."

"I understand." John murmured. "So…" John licked his lips. They got clearance. Now what? "So what's going to happen next?"

"I can't sign a warrant or do anything against them unless I have solid proof. All I need is small evidence that Sherlock is kept there. That's all I need." Mycroft explained firmly. "Then, I will rally with Lestrade and the rest of the Yard and the Internal Affairs." John tried to moisten his lips by licking it but the inside of his mouth was too dry.

"Two more days." John muttered. "Anything I can do?"

"All I can ask for you to do is to keep patient…and hope that Sherlock can return in one piece."

…

She sat by his side and held his hand tightly as the man breathed heavily. They only had two days until the whole project was put to a halt. If D-12 did not show any effect, Sherlock Holmes and William Crawford were going to be executed. She squeezed his hand tighter. That is, if he managed to survive the physical and mental damage that substance had given him. She sat there like that for several hours, contemplating on what she was going to do now. She lined up the options and the possible outcomes. She was so close. If only she had more time…

The eyes slowly fluttered open. At first, it stared straight up at the ceiling in a dazed manner but it gradually regained its focus and slowly shifted toward the figure beside him.

"Will…?"She choked and stroked the side of the gaunt cheeks. The eyes blinked back at her blankly. Then, his face just stared back at her as if it was a wax figure. "William?" She croaked again and sunk to her knees so that her face was leveled with his. His eyes gradually widened in surprise.

"Irene?" He breathed out with an incredulous look on his face. He gripped her hand back. She felt his fingers slightly tremble against hers.

"It's okay, you just had a seizure. You were gone for a few days but the doctor says you're just fine." William opened his mouth to say something but the words didn't come out. She noticed that his shoulders were shaking slightly.

"It's okay," she whispered and helped him sit up. He stared down at his feet and furrowed his brow as he tried to recall what had happened in the past few days. As he came to realization, Will widened his sunken eyes and froze at the spot. He just stared blankly at her. Irene looked at him with a questioning look.

"The last thing I remember…" He began. _Was kissing you. _He tried to say but the words died in his mouth as searing pain erupted in his head. His tremble increased and Irene had to grip his hand more tightly to keep him calm. William's body slumped violently to the right. Irene caught him just in time. His head thudded into her shoulder and she was able to hear his raspy breathing clearly. She tapped him gently in the cheek. His head lolled to the side.

_It's the aftershock. _She thought with a dreadful feeling. For a second there she half believed that William had managed to survive the effects of D-12 without any harm but it turns out she was wrong. The past few test subjects were just like this. The moment they injected them with the psycholpetic, they would collapse and suffer from shock. Some were unable to cope with it and their heart gave out immediately. Others managed to survive but never regained consciousness or just went insane after a few days. She pulled her left hand behind his neck to support his face. She lowered his body and looked down at him.

"William, are you alright?" She asked in a shaky voice. The blue eyes were foggy again and his mouth was half opened. His chest rose and sank deeply. She carefully laid him back on the bed. She remembered that some suffered several seizures like this before they stopped breathing. She had to keep him well hydrated. She cursed under her breath and fought back the tears. She was so close. Suddenly, she felt a hand brush up to her face. She blinked and stared back down at the fallen man. William grimaced and moved his lips laboriously but the words did not come out. He licked his lips again and gulped in some air before trying it again. She leaned in closer to him so that his mouth was closer to her ear.

"…you." He rasped weakly. She furrowed her brow and looked back at William. It took a while before William could muster his strength to try again. D-12 was crashing his body down and William was trying hard to fight it off. He closed his eyes and flexed his fingers and tried to clear the fog away from his head. Irene felt an uncomfortable lump in her throat. This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't her experiment anymore. She had given Sherlock Holmes different assortment of narcotics and even done several shock treatments but D-12 was an enigmatic element. She had no idea what it would bring to the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes or to William.

"I…"He muttered.

"Yes?" The blue eyes stared back at her desperately. She waited patiently but William didn't say anything. Instead, he raised his body up, pulled her towards him with a surprisingly firm grim and brushed his lips against her lips. The contact lasted only for a few faulty seconds before he fell back into his bed with a huff and slowly sunk into a state of deep delirium. Irene stared down at him with an astonished look. The short gesture was enough for her to make up her final decision. She needed to evacuate William from this facility of death immediately.

* * *

A/N

Thanks for reading so far and sorry for the looong delay! I was just so busy for the last few weeks despite the fact that the story was left at a cliffhanger! I was so preoccupied with my daily stuff that I forgot what my original plot-line was supposed to be. So it took some time to recall some of the details that I had in mind and mold it into something satisfying enough for me.

I received a request to leave an approximate date of my next update :) Well...I usually work on my stories during weekends but I don't know.

I finally got out of my writer's block period so I might be able to upload it sooner! I'll try to update at least one more installment before the next week starts since I'm sort of on the roll at the moment!


	7. Chapter 7

Irene tried her best to stabilize William's breathing but she had to refrain from applying him any type of narcotics since it may cause intoxication from D-12. All she could do was feed him some oxygen and adjust him to a more comfortable posture. She fed some nutrition through IV but she knew that infusions had its limit. William had to eat something. The test subject moaned once a while and opened his eyes but they were out of focus. Irene held his hand and the trembling hands squeezed back desperately. He was crushing her fingers so hard that Irene had to wince. His heart rate and blood pressure elevated and then dropped alarmingly low few minutes later. The cycle went on for several more times and she was afraid that William would suddenly stop breathing like how the others have in the past.

"Please hang on…please don't leave me, William." She murmured into his clenched fist. William's eyelids fluttered and his breathing hitched as if he had registered her plea. A fain groan leaked from him and his head shifted to the left. She blinked. Was he gaining consciousness?

"…Irene." He moaned in a low rasp that was barely audible.

"Yes?" There was no answer. She looked at her watch. It was 2 in the morning. William had been in a state of delirium for nearly 8 hours. Surely his energy was running out.

It was 2 hours later when she was suddenly violently woken up by a scream. She had fallen asleep by the chair beside William's bed. She realized the source of the scream and jolted upright. A figure was thrashing on the bed and another figure was towered over it with a pen light in hand. She recognized the large pair of hands as she clenched her fist and jumped to her feet.

"Dr. Gail!" She advanced toward him and tried to slap his hand away from William but before she could reach him, the tall doctor took a step back away from her and raised his hands. In his left hand was in empty needle. "What did you do to him?" She demanded through her clenched teeth. Dr. Gail dropped the needle into a bowl filled with water and looked up at her with an innocent look. He almost looked gleeful. William had stopped screaming and was groaning some incoherent words.

"I gave him a bit of something I've been working on recently. That ought to calm his seizures down." He said blankly and checked William's pulse. "See, it's calmed down."

"What did you give him?" She demanded again. Dr. Gail's eyes flashed behind his glasses.

"D-13."

"What?"

"It's upgraded. I thought I should try it before the test subject is disposed." Her shoulders tensed at these words. The way Dr. Gail talked about William was almost inhumane. Before she could say anything, he slipped out of the room. As soon as the figure was out of her view, she kneeled beside the bed and reached toward William, who was staring up at the ceiling with a dazed look. The bed sheets were crumpled and a pillow had fallen to the floor. His mouth was slightly opened and his breathing had calmed down but his fingers were still trembling.

"William?" She called out half hoping that he had not heard any of the conversation. How much had he heard? The man just stared up at the ceiling with a hurt look. She stroked his cheek. The man didn't seem to notice it. "William?"

"What…did he mean by test subject?" He croaked after agonizing seconds of silence. Irene's stomach dropped. So he did hear it. She opened her mouth but closed it. What was the point of hiding it? He was going to die anyway. She bowed her head and looked at the floor. After a while, she finally managed to raise her head and smile reassuringly.

"It's the drug. They gave you a new drug that they're currently working on. They wanted to try some before they disposed it for a new batch…it might take a while until the new stock arrives so I guess it was the right decision…but….the doctor gave you a fright didn't he?" William heaved a sigh and ran his trembling hand over his face.

"It's the flashes…they-they frighten me." He murmured. "God, what is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, Will. You're recovering. You need to rest. You must be tired from all the shock symptoms." William merely nodded and closed his eyes. Irene smoothed the bed sheet and looked down at William's face. She squared her jaw. It was obvious that Dr. Gail was trying to take over her experiment and get all the credit by using _his_ method. She couldn't let Dr. Gail do whatever he wanted with William. She had to get him out of his reach. She briskly left the room and headed to her car.

She stuffed everything she could into her case and car. She emptied the drawers and fetched her passport and several other credentials. Then, she grabbed some clothes, cash, check, cards, and pc. She was planning to abandon her car and rent a different car under a fake name so that it would slow down their tracking process. She pulled the battery and IC chip of her mobile phone out and left it on the dining table so that they would not be able to back track her through its GPS. She dropped by a store and bought a hair dye on her way home. She applied it as soon as she arrived home and took the shower. She bleached her hair and after a few hours, her hair was no longer auburn but blonde. She didn't bother to lock the house door when she left. By the time she arrived at the facility again, dawn was already breaking. She swiftly entered the building and weaved through corridors that were less used. She dropped by her office to retrieve some documents and data. Stuffing it hastily in her bag, she slid into William's room. The man was still deeply asleep. She tapped his arm and looked over her shoulder to see if there were any staffs. It was early morning and around the time when the night and morning shifts were both taking a break. She only had 15 more minutes left. William came around with a groan. He squinted at the lights leaking through the window, and frowned when he realized that the blonde woman staring down at him was none other than Irene.

"What…" He began but she shushed him.

"William, I need you to sit up and climb into here." She gestured at the wheelchair she had carried over. He pressed his arm against the mattress and tried to sit up with an uncertain look on his face. She helped him sit upright and guided his feet to the floor.

"What's going on? What…" He muttered but was shushed to silence again. He climbed on the wheel chair but stared back up at her with an unnerved look.

"I lied about last night." She whispered into his ear. "The doctors in here aren't proper. They're giving you something dangerous. We need to get out of here." William's eyes widened incredulously. He opened his mouth to say something but he closed it knowing that Irene would just silence him again. "If you want to live" She muttered by his ear, "you'll have to trust me." William nodded hesitantly as she carted him out of the room.

Once she successfully managed to get the two the parking lot undetected, she pulled William out of the wheelchair and into the back seat of the car.

"Just lie down and relax." She ordered and mounted into the driver's seat. As she started the engine, William stared up at the car ceiling as he felt his heart thump. Something was not right.

…

Mycroft Holmes shook his head and sighed into his hands. John bowed his head down. Yet again, they had encountered another dead end. He was so sure that they had them this time. Mycroft Holmes had assembled a surprise inspection on the suspected research facility just today. Mycroft himself had visited the building and took a tour around the place.

"I couldn't find a single sign of him." The elder Holmes explained in a slightly fatigued voice. John looked up at him with a sympathetic look. Mycroft, like his younger brother, rarely expressed his emotions. Especially those that would show his vulnerability, but recently John found Mycroft sighing and cradling his head in desperation often. It wasn't hard to understand. I mean, his only brother had been abducted.

"If you can't find a single sign of him…" John's voice trailed away. Mycroft strained himself up in his seat and huffed laboriously.

"I'm sure we had them. It was just that someone had noticed them in advance while I was trying to get clearance to access to them." He drummed the edge of the table. "He's there. I can't find any logical proof but something tells me that it's it." An unpleasant chill ran down John's back.

"Right…we know where he was. We need to know where he went." Lestrade murmured in a low voice and buried his face into his hands just like Mycroft.

…

Three days ago…

Being exhausted, William drifted in and out of consciousness as Irene drove the car to nowhere. Around past noon, she woke William up and told him that she was changing cars so that he needed to move. She briskly loaded to luggage into their newly rented car, which was a minivan. William was dizzy and he felt nauseous after a few hours of long drive. Realizing this, Irene dropped by a store and brought some fruits and warm soup. William wasn't sure he could eat anything but even a few sips of food made him feel refreshed. She pulled out an infusion from the back of the car and injected it into his wrist. He blinked at it with heavily hooded eyes and said,

"I never knew…you could do that." She merely grimaced. He had no idea where they were going but he sensed that they weren't going to the hospital or their house. It was not until well past nightfall that she stopped driving and arrived at a small hotel. She gently tapped William from the driver's seat. When he opened his eyes, she smiled gently at him.

"We'll rest here. But before that, I need you to change into these while I check in." She pulled out a pair of trousers and a white crisp shirt. He looked down at his clothes that he was currently wearing. They were plain black shirt and trousers. He wondered many times why they were not hospital gowns. He happily shrugged the seat drenched outfit off as Irene climbed out of the car and strode into the hotel.

Irene offered him a wheelchair but he shook his head.

"I want to stretch my legs out a little." Irene nodded and lent him a hand as he climbed out of the car. He heard whooshing noise of cars from behind him and when he entered the hotel, he realized that there were people walking in and out of the place. His body trembled but he gritted his teeth and urged himself onto the elevator with Irene. The room was a pleasant place; a simple double bed room with television, a desk and even a small kitchen. Irene ushered William to the bed and injected him the IV again. After she finished carrying the luggage in, she sat beside William and stroked his hair.

"How are you doing?" William closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

"Exhausted…but fine." He felt strangely calm. Whatever the doctor had given him the night before it seemed to be working just fine. After a few seconds of comforting silence, he opened his eyes again and looked up at Irene with a stern glint in his eyes that he didn't have before. "Irene, tell me what's going on." Irene's hand stopped stroking him. "You asked me to trust you. I did…but I'm waiting for an explanation. What did they do to me?" Irene merely stared down at him with a sad look. "Who am I?" William pressed quietly. His voice shook. "Am I who you really say I am?" Irene leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Will's cheek and whispered,

"I need you to just trust me for a little bit longer. I'll explain when it's all over." She sat up again and climbed into the other bed and reached for the lights. With a brisk good night, the room went completely dark.

Will stared up into the blank darkness and racked his head but most of his thoughts were foggy and scrambled. He tried to recall any memory before the accident. All he could remember was the flashes and jolt of pain. He winced and tried to calm his thumping heart down. He could hear the faint, deep breathing of Irene. He closed his eyes and tried to find a logical explanation for all this. _Who are we running from? What's going on here? _ His eyes flung open and he quietly sat up. He reached toward the bedside table and searched blindly for a ball point pen. Once he got hold of the pen, he climbed out of the bed and quietly padded toward the bathroom. Closing the door silently behind him, he flicked on the lights and pulled up his shirt. He needed help. And there was only one other person he knew other than Irene.

…

Gail frantically rummaged through her office but found that all the reports (including his copy) were missing. He looked into the database but they had been completely erased from it too. He thought it was because of the inspection but even after that man called Mycroft Holmes left the facility, the data did not return to the hard drive. That was when Gail realized that something was wrong. He contacted the main office and asked where he test subject was kept but only received and answer that he had already been moved to another covert facility. _Impossible, I never gave such orders. _He tried to contact her mobile but there was no reply or signal. It was as if Sherlock Holmes never existed. He paced back and forth in the empty, messy office and bit down on his knuckles. _She must have run away. That bitch… She took all my work. _He had to find her. The order was to hand in the report and dissolve any witnesses. Sherlock Holmes's time was up. Where ever he was, Gail had to make sure that he would not talk anymore.

…

Irene woke up the next morning to find herself strangely refreshed. She had never slept so deeply in a long time. She looked to her side and noticed that William was already awake and was brushing his teeth with the hotel tooth brush. He must have taken a shower since his hair was damp and he was wearing a new set of clothes. He was cleanly shaved and looked like he was in a better state than yesterday. He shifted his eyes toward her before bending over the sink to rinse his mouth.

"Morning," He greeted and sat beside Irene and pecked her cheek. Irene blinked. William had never shown such affection toward her before. Of course she had made him kiss and hug her but that was because she had approached him. And even when he did so, she knew that William was feeling slightly uncomfortable about it. Could it be that her methods had finally worked, or was it the effect of the psycholeptic that Gail had given him? She squared her jaws at the thought of Gail. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be on the run like a fugitive right now, and assessing William's mental state would have been easier. She decided to test something.

"I love you William." She murmured with a smile. The corner of Will's mouth twitched for a fraction of a second and a strange expression flashed across his face, which looked like mixture of fear, realization, and delight. His lips quivered as he answered

"I love you too, Irene." As he said this, he slid away from the bed and turned his back toward her and asked, "Coffee or tea?"

"Um…coffee." She answered with a bewildered look. Will's recovery was amazingly quick. She watched him as he strode toward the kitchen and poured hot water into to mugs. She listened to the clinking noise of the cups and wondered if Will was upset about their brief conversation they had the day before. Was he still feeling suspicious toward her? Of course, he probably was. Her mind drifted as she started to wonder if Gail had noticed their absence. Not only Gail, but she had betrayed the whole research team by stealing the report away from them. Her trail of thought was interrupted by a sudden crashing noise from the kitchen. She jumped to her feet and looked over toward the counter. She hurried over to find Will sprawled on the floor with a mug shattered to pieces near him with a dark splash of coffee smeared across the tile floor. Will had collapsed onto the floor left shoulder first and his back as face toward her. His right hand was outstretched near the mess of coffee. She dashed forward and kneeled beside him, ignoring the shattered, sharp pieces.

"Will, William," She called out but the man did not reply. His eyes were glossy and staring into nowhere. She checked for any sign of concussion and rolled him onto his back and checked for his pulse. They were stable. "Can you hear me?" She called out. Still no reply. Something about the way the eyes just stared blankly frightened Irene. It was as if he was in a state of trance. She dragged him out of the kitchen and plopped him onto the bed. His head lolled to the side. Having encountered something that was out of her expectations, Irene started to panic. Should she call for the ambulance? No, that would be too large of a risk. Then what could she do? What was happening to Will? Was it one of the side effects of D-13? She checked Will's breathing but there was nothing wrong about it. Her hands shook. "William" She bent over him and shook him. It was very unprofessional but it was all she could do. "Will…"She called out again desperately until she felt a hand grasp her wrist. She blinked to see William gazing back at her with a calm expression.

"I'm okay," He murmured quietly. "…Just black out." Irene let out a sigh of relief as her shoulders sagged. William sat up slowly and scanned the room. His eyes stopped on the shattered pieces and the splattered liquid on the floor.

"Oh," he said as he started to slide out of the bed and approach the kitchen. Irene hastily pushed him back.

"No, you need to rest. You aren't fully recovered." William stared back at her blankly. He sat back down onto the bed silently. Irene quickly checked Will's complexion and pulse again before she scuttled to the kitchen to clean up the mess.

…

Sherlock let out a silent sigh of relief. He had almost snapped at the woman when he found her shaking him like a rag doll. He had somehow managed to get rid of William and return back to consciousness, but how long had he been absent? He ran a hand down his hair and realized that they had not changed much. _A few days, perhaps? _He remembered the awful experience that was etched into his most recent memory. As he stared at the woman clean the floor, he felt the insides of his stomach squirm. Where was he? This didn't look like any part of the facility. He looked at the bed side table and found a small notepad with a name of a hotel on the top. _I'm in a hotel…she's taken me to a hotel, why? _Suddenly, Sherlock remembered the heated conversation he had overhead before he was injected with the strange drug.

_That's the point. I have also received orders to leave no evidence once the project is shutdown. If D-12 doesn't work, he has to die anyway._

What did they mean by project? Sherlock knew that he must be some kind of a test subject of an insane research but why was it being shut down? What was D-12? How was he going to be killed? He scanned the hotel again. From the way the luggage had been half unpacked, he realized that they had been here for only a day. He ran a hand over his chin and found out that William had shaved this morning. It seemed that his time of dying had been postponed for some reason. He blinked and studied at the woman's attire, which was strangely casual. Was she trying to pretend that she was living with William again? Then again, he wasn't at their house like they were the last time. This meant that if Sherlock wished, he could have access outside the room. He looked at the window. There were no guards and didn't seem to be bolted. He had access to the balcony although they were four floors above ground. He checked the door. He made a mental note to check if there were any guards. Then, he realized that his "mental note" had a limit. He didn't know when William would emerge again. Sherlock bit his lower lip and stared down at his hands. He wondered if William had seen the memo he had left on his body last time. He flicked his eyes toward the pen on the bed side table and snatched it. He stole a quick glance at the woman who had cleaned up the place and was preparing for a fresh cup of coffee. He slid out of the bed and slipped into the bathroom. He locked it and faced the mirror. He wondered what to write. It could be useless. Maybe William would not notice it or dismiss it as some kind of a prank. He clicked on the butt of the pen and lifted his shirt up. He froze. He looked at the reflection in the mirror and noticed a lengthy scribble on his abdomen. He looked down at it and read it carefully. His heart thudded against his chest.

_I don't know what's going on anymore._

_I don't know who I am._

_Who are you, Sherlock Holmes? Help me. I was injected something. Irene and I are running away from them. She knows something. Tell me what you know. _

Sherlock could tell from the slight quiver and the flailing strokes that William had written this in a hurry. He was probably desperate. He smiled to himself. Looks like William is not as stupid as Sherlock had imagined. Then again, it's no surprise because technically, it's the same person. Sherlock dampened a towel and rubbed at the message until they faded away. He began scribbling what he knew onto his skin.

* * *

A/N

A bit of a short cushion to prepare for the upcoming climax.

Yes, some people may have already noticed but I got the ballpoint-pen-body-messaging idea from Memento :D


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock didn't speak much after that incident in the morning. As soon as he got back from the bathroom, he sat on top of the bed and stared at the wall. He didn't want to look out the window. Something about the passengers below made him twitch. He didn't know what. The woman who called herself Irene approached him with two fresh cups of coffee. She handed one to him and seated beside him. She reached for the remote and turned on the television screen. The moment it flicked on with a slight buzz, Sherlock swallowed a gasp and turned his head away from the screen. The cup which he held trembled. Irene noticed his behavior and realized what triggered it. She immediately turned the screen off and threw the remote to her side as if it was contaminated with a lethal disease.

"William, I am so sorry." She said in an alert voice. Sherlock ignored the fact that he was addressed by the wrong name and tried to regain his composure. He found the task harder than he imagined. Flash backs of unpleasant sensations rushed through his mind like a tsunami. His shoulders trembled as he was reminded of the painful shocks and the blinding lights. Irene gently tugged the cup away from Sherlock's grasp before he could spill it all over the bed sheets. Placing it on the bed side table, she turned back to him and held his shoulders. Sherlock breathed out slowly and opened his eyes. Irene's eyes gazed back at him. He was immediately disgusted by it but couldn't find the right words to express it. He wanted to slap her away and strangle her like before but the thought of it only made his flash backs become all the more realistic.

"William, it's okay." She breathed and squeezed his shoulders. A tear trickled down her cheek. Sherlock didn't miss it. _Why is it that she's crying when she caused all this? _Anger flared up inside him but was immediately extinguished by a painful jolt down his spine. No, it wasn't actual pain. He was just imagining it. Instead of slapping her or strangling her, Sherlock gently nudged her hands away, slid out of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom once again. The moment he shut the door behind him, he hurled himself toward the toilet and heaved. The remains of the soup and apple he ate the night before was reversed out. Throwing up reminded Sherlock of the countless times he was submitted to the unpleasant noise in the cell. He tried to shake the memory away but the more he threw up, the more his memories were freshened. He had no way out of the negative spiral. Even when his stomach was completely emptied, he was still retching. Sherlock realized that even if he managed to escape from these mad scientists, he would never be able to escape completely until he heals from the physical and mental damages.

…

Anthea strode into the room without knocking. Mycroft realized that his secretary looked unusually alert and resembled none of her usual relaxed composure. He straightened up in his chair and looked at her questioningly.

"Sir, there's been a report that the surveillance division received a search request for a missing person." She hurried toward his desk and handed him a document. It was a picture of a woman wearing a pair of glasses and her auburn hair was tied up tightly. He didn't recognize her but he froze when he saw her name and occupation. She worked for the research facility that Sherlock was presumed to be held.

…

Dr. Gail paced up and down his office. The chief supervisor had sent a special request to the government for a search for the woman. All security cameras in the country were now thoroughly scanned in search for the traitor. It was only a matter of time before she was identified and caught. Then, Sherlock Holmes would be back in custody and ready for the final analysis and disposal.

…

It took a while for Sherlock to regain his composure but once the retching stopped he pulled himself up to his feet and leaned against the sink. He ran the water and rinsed his mouth. Once he dried his face, he opened the door and reached to flick off the lights. He froze as his eyes focused at the switch. His fingers trembled. Sherlock bit his lower lip. He couldn't understand why he was feeling so uneasy about turning off the lights. He stretched his shaking index finger and urged himself to flip the switch but his fingers retracted from it immediately. _Get a grip of yourself, Sherlock. It's just a light switch. Turn it off. It's just a light switch…light switch…light…light…electricity…shock…shock…shock…SHOCK. _Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed his thumb and index finger against his eye lids. Why couldn't he do the simplest things in life? It was just turning the lights off. He knew that there was no way he could be electrocuted by it. It was completely illogical but trauma seemed to be ignorant of rationality. He was about to give it another try when Irene closed in on him. Sherlock stared back at her with a blank expression. She gently tugged him toward her and rubbed his back. Sherlock tried not to squirm against it. She flicked off the lights with ease and guided him toward the bed again. He was a few paces away from the bed when his vision suddenly blurred and all feeling in his limbs disappeared. It was as if gravity disappeared from the world. His mind shutdown before he could hit the floor.

She let out an alerted yelp when William suddenly collapsed onto the floor as if someone had pulled the plug from him. It was so sudden and unexpected that she couldn't catch him despite the fact that she was standing closely beside him. She kneeled beside him and caressed his limp frame up. Williams head lolled and his long arms dragged along. She peered into his face. His eyes were open but the light in his eyes were gone. She pulled out a penlight and flashed it in his eyes. The pupils constricted when light shined upon it.

"William," She called out in a loud clear voice but no reply came back. It was as if he was dead. She placed his head on her lap and patted his cheeks. The light blue eyes just gazed up at her blankly. A cold shiver ran down her spine. What was going on? She remembered how William had suddenly collapsed and fallen into a similar state of coma a few hours ago. She tried shaking him. That had woken him up before. She shook him for a few seconds but nothing happened. Her breathing became faster. She checked his pulse. They were stable. She lifted his upper body up and made him lean against her body. She massaged his hands and called his name again. There was no reply. The fingers were limp. It didn't even twitch. She felt like she was caressing a large doll. She lifted him on the bed and reached for the phone. Should she call the ambulance? No, surely the medics will not be able to help…even she had no idea what was happening. What caused this? It must be one of the side effects of D-13. She placed the receiver down and kneeled beside William. She enveloped his face with her hands and squeezed at it tenderly. The eyes were blank. She bit her lips and hung her head. Her fears were confirmed. Sherlock Holmes was another failed experiment. He couldn't endure the strong effects of the drug. She was just about to give up on him when William's eyelids fluttered. After a few blinks, the life in his eyes returned and his fingers clenched tightly. He locked gazes with her.

"What…" He muttered as he noticed her worried look.

"You collapsed." She said and let out a sigh of relief. She helped him sit up and immediately checked his complexion. "Are you alright? Do you feel sick? Are there any pains? Did you hit your head when you fell? Any dizziness, nausea? Any numbness in your tongue?" She pelted him with several more questions which William answered with a shake or a nod of a head.

"I-I don't understand…I was making coffee and then…and then…" He frowned. Irene frowned back at him.

"Will, that was a few hours ago. Don't you remember? You were sick and throwing up…"

"No, I don't remember any of that." William said with a hollow look in his eyes.

"Amnesia…." She breathed. "You don't remember anything after you made coffee?" William looked down at his hands as he tried to recall anything. "No." He finally answered. She squeezed his hands and looked into his eyes.

"I need you to trust me. William, do you trust me?" She began with a firm tone. William started back at her for a few seconds before he nodded. "You need to listen to me carefully and calmly. William…something is happening to your head. Something bad is happening to your head. I don't know what but I think it has something to do with that injection the doctor gave you."

William merely stared back up at her with a neutral look on his face. It was as if he was processing the worlds slowly in his head. Slowly, he lifted his body up from Irene and massaged his temple.

"What's happening to me?" he mumbled more to himself than to Irene. Irene wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Suddenly, Will shrugged the arm off and bolted to his feet.

"William?" The man didn't answer. He merely marched back into the bathroom. Slightly alarmed by his strange behavior, Irene called his name again and followed after him. She grabbed the door knob but it was already locked. She pressed her ears against the door fearing that he was still sick. There was no sound. She knocked.

"Yes?" A steady voice answered.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes…I just want to wash my face."

_Run. They will kill you. _

_Her name is not Irene Adler. _

_Call John Watson. Tell him where you are. You can trust him. _

William squared his jaw as he read the neatly written letters scribbled across his abdomen. He also found another message written on his upper right arm. He peeled back the sleeve and read,

_Don't call the police. _

And there was a phone number scribbled under it which William assumed was John Watson's. William scratched his head and leaned against the sink. What was going on? What was happening to him? Who is Irene Adler? She had asked him to trust her. Can he? Or should he trust an invisible person that only passes message by writing on his body? William slid to the floor and rested his forehead on his knees.

…

When John arrived at Lestrade's office, the whole area was buzzing with anticipation. Anderson and Dimmock were dashing back forth the floor. Donovan was hunched over a table with Lestrade and a few other officers that John didn't recognize. Lestrade just lowered his phone receiver on the table when he looked up to greet John.

"We got a call from Mycroft. Luckily, her house is located in our jurisdiction…search requests are not our division but Mycroft managed to override some legal protocols for us." Lestrade flashed a slightly fatigued, relieved smile. "We're going to sweep the place."

"Who are we talking about?" John asked. All he had heard was that Mycroft found a lead.

"Mycroft's surveillance team was requested to search for this woman." Lestrade handed him a document with picture of a woman. "Dr. Lydia Marlowe," John swallowed a gasp when he saw her occupation. "There's a high possibility that she had something to do with Sherlock's disappearance."

"And she disappeared as well." John muttered as he skimmed through the rest of the page.

"And someone is desperate to find her." Lestrade murmured back. "It was fortunate for us that Mycroft controls all of Britain's surveillances."

"The big brother" John answered back in a dry humor.

The house was only a half an hour ride from the office. It was surprising how close the presence of Sherlock's abductors were. John tagged along Lestrade's so called "search professionals" as they accessed into the vacant house. While Anderson rounded up the local police and kept them busy with checking the perimeter of the house, Lestrade and John climbed into the house. It was, frankly, a normal house. It was slightly cluttered up but not too badly. It showed that the occupant of this house was a fairly busy person. Lestrade strode into the living room and quickly ran his eyes over the couch and the coffee table. Then, he moved on into the kitchen and opened the cabinets. John looked into the sink and realized that the plates haven't been washed for quite a time. He checked the fridge. There was more food than he had expected. The garbage bin was exposing a slightly unpleasant stench. The others flicked on the light switch in the bedroom and checked for any possible missing objects. John spotted an abandoned IC card on the table. Lestrade found an emptied box of hair dye in the bathroom. John also realized that there were two tooth brushes and some men's clothes in the wardrobe. He noticed that the size was roughly the same as Sherlock's.

"She's not missing…she ran." Lestrade concluded as he looked around the house.

"No doubt about that." Sally answered and tapped one of the drawers. "No passport, no cards…she took everything she needed." It was just then that they heard Anderson call from the other end of the house. Lestrade hurried over to him. John followed. They both came to halt as they saw the room that Anderson was standing in.

"I thought she was a doctor, not a musician." John asked with a puzzled look. The room was filled with various instruments and a table with some recording devices. The walls were padded so they were sound proof.

"Someone spent a lot of money on this." Lestrade observed. Anderson cleared his throat. They both looked at him as he gestured toward an object on top of the chair with his gloved hand. It was a violin case.

"Look what I found inside." He said and handed a slip of sloppily folded paper. Lestrade opened it. It read in a scribble,

_John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper, James Moriarty, Irene Adler. _

And right below that was a large "?" written in bold lines with several circles scratched around it agitatedly. Lestrade and John swallowed. Although the hand writing was sloppier than usual, they immediately recognized the exaggerated strokes and the slight slant.

"Sherlock's been here." John breathed.

…

After what seemed like hours, William finally emerged from the bathroom. He tried to look unshaken but it was hard to maintain his composure when everything seemed unsafe. He feared that he was being too paranoid but the message had unnerved him. He scrubbed off the message on his abdomen but decided to keep the phone number just in case. He didn't want to run. He wanted to trust Irene. She saved him. She supported him. She loved him and he loved her back. He wondered who was after his life. What did Sherlock Holmes mean by "they"? He wished the idiot had left more information for him. Who was Sherlock Holmes anyway? _Am I going mad? _Perhaps Irene was right. Maybe the doctor had given him something and was messing his head up. He found Irene gazing at him worryingly from the coffee table. She was typing something into her laptop. She placed a hand on the top of the laptop defensively. She gave a nervous smile at him.

"How are you feeling?" William nodded with a hollow look in his eyes. It was early in the evening and the sun hung low in the clouded sky. He gave out a weak sigh and sat in front of her. Irene shut her laptop with a snap and placed it to the side. She stretched her hand out to William's. William merely dropped his gaze and took a furtive glance at the laptop. Something nagged in the back of his head. He felt her fingers wrap around his wrist.

"Irene," He croaked. "I need you to ask you something." Irene's fingers tensed slightly.

"What is it?" William looked up to meet her eyes. He opened his mouth but his heart skipped a beat the moment he saw her eyes. The auburn eyes stared into him with a warm, comforting gleam. The reassurance that radiated from her engulfed him. His eyes lids fluttered as he lowered his gaze back to the table.

"Nothing...it's nothing…"he muttered. Irene smiled tightly and circled her thumb over his skin. She raised herself from the chair and leaned over the table to kiss William in the cheek. William shifted so that their lips met. He closed his eyes and pulled her hand closer.

_There is no way…there is no possible way she is lying to me. _

_Wrong, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true. _

William suddenly snapped his eyes open and broke the kiss. What was that? Where did that come from?

"Will?" Irene whispered. William's eyes wavered. He leaned back on his chair and pulled his hand away from Irene's. She circled around the table and approached to his side. "Tell me, what is it that you wanted to ask?" She asked. William didn't say anything for a long time. It was as if he had completely forgotten about her existence. He stared at the surface of the table as if to burn a hole through it. He racked his head. That voice in his head, what was that? And what was that strange, yet familiar sensation that he felt when he heard the voice? He tried to recall the sensation again but no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't remember what it felt like. Slightly alarmed by his silence, Iren paced a hand on his shoulder. William slowly turned his head toward her. Suddenly, her eyes didn't seem as comforting as he first saw it.

…

Gail looked up at the screen and smiled. Yes, that was unmistakably Doctor Marlowe. The surveillance footage from the car rental store was low definition but good enough to tell.

"She must be somewhere around here." He murmured and pointed at the map.

…

William waited until her breathing became deep and slow. He stared up at the ceiling with his hands clasped around the bed sheets. He couldn't muster the courage to do it. He was afraid. Yet he didn't know what he was afraid of. _It's just checking. Clear you doubts. _ He told himself. Yet he still couldn't get out of the bed. He lifted his head and strained his eyes into the darkness. He could see a vague outline of the coffee table through the moonlight. Then, he shifted his gaze to the side where Irene was sound asleep in her bed. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. _Here we go. _He scooted over to the edge of the bed and slowly slid his foot out onto the floor. He straightened up on his feet and shifted toward the coffee table. He stretched his hand in front of him to keep himself from tumbling into unseen objects. He took a cautious step toward the table again. His heart raced. He took a deep breath and held it as he checked on Irene again .He could see her shoulders rising up and down in a steady beat. He stretched his hand out farther and touched the edge of the coffee table. He leaned toward it and reached his other hand out to reach toward the laptop placed at the other side of the table. His fingers brushed against the smooth surface. Will exhaled and pulled the instrument closer to him. He opened the laptop and hunched himself over it, careful not to leak the lights toward Irene's direction as he booted it up. The laptop whirred to life as he pressed the power button. Just when the screen flickered to her desktop, there was a sudden knock at the door. William slapped the laptop shut and pushed it back to its original place hastily. He pressed his back against the wall and held his breath. There was another sharp knock. Irene stirred. William slipped back onto his bed. At the same time, Irene raised her head up with an alarmed look. The two strained their ears. They could hear hushed voices on the other side of the door. William couldn't make out what they were saying but it seemed like there were two people and both were men. Irene slipped out of the bed and treated cautiously toward the door. William just watched in silence with tensed muscles. She pressed her ear against the door but the two men seemed to have treaded away. She looked outside through the peek hole. She shook her head and let out a sigh of relief. William did the same.

_Run. They will kill you._

William remembered those words and felt a chill run down his spine.

…

Lestrade and John clambered down the corridor with a grim look on their faces.

"It's no use. Everyone's asleep." John muttered.

"If only we could gather some sighting information" Lestrade murmured in reply. They received a call from Mycroft saying that Gail had found the footage of Dr. Marlowe at a car rental store's surveillance camera. Although they couldn't get any images Sherlock in any of the footages, the owner had explained that she had another man along with her, who looked incredibly ill, with a slender frame. John and Lestrade hurried over to the surrounding area for any sighting information. They managed to track her and the car down through a couple of miles but lost track again. They decided to question some of the nearby hotels to see if she and Sherlock had dropped by. The problem was, most people were asleep and there were so many rooms and staffs that it took forever to go around. It was like trying to find a nail in a stack of hay. Yet Lestrade and John were prepared to knock on every single door of every single hotel rooms in every single hotels of the perimeter. They had to find Sherlock before the researchers did. They were so close. Lestrade could feel it. They were on the right track. They must be.

"We can come tomorrow morning and ask some of the staffs instead. Maybe some of them had seen them checking in at the counter." Lestrade suggested. John nodded numbly.


	9. Chapter 9

William and Irene were out of the hotel in less than 30 minutes. She abandoned the rental car and hailed a taxi. She made sure both she and Will's face were hidden under their hats as they climbed inside the vehicle.

"Drive north." She ordered in a brisk tone. The driver lifted and eyebrow and looked back at her questioningly. "Just drive." She pressed. The driver shrugged and stepped on the axel. William kept his lips pursed. He tried hard not to look at the view outside. The glimmering lights and the flickering cars frightened him. His breathing hitched every time a truck passed by. Irene squeezed his hand. "Just go to sleep, William." She smiled. Will looked back at her with wavering eyes. He tried to calm himself down but looking into her eyes didn't help. The warmth between them was gone. "Trust me." She whispered reassuringly. William took a few deep breathes and leaned back against his seat.

Lights…his body was in pain. He looked down at his hands. They were clammy and trembling. William tried to stop the shaking. He slapped his hand. He flexed his fingers. His breathing was rasp and his muscles stung. His joints felt like they were on fire. He couldn't sit up so he crumbled to the floor.

…_lock! Sherlock…! _A voice yelled in a distance. William furrowed his brow. His eyes bolted around his surrounding, looking for the source of voice. Was it Irene? He tensed his ears. No, the voice was too low to be Irene. He didn't recognize the voice. Sherlock? Who was that? Suddenly, William found himself pinned onto a metal slab. There was something unpleasantly familiar about this place. His shoulder blades seared in white hot pain. William bit his lips. His nose was bleeding and he was suddenly feeling nauseous. He tried to break free from the restraints but numerous pair of hands held him down. William screamed. He kicked his legs. The hands pushed him down harder. A jolt of pain ran down his body. Flashes of horrific lights erupted behind his eyes. The sensation triggered something in his head. Unfamiliar images erupted in his head. Blood, dead bodies, police tapes, police lights, guns, broken glass, bloody knives…faces that he's never seen before…

One day ago…

William bolted upright and grabbed at the figure that was looming over him. The figure let out a yelp and almost collapsed onto him. Will was heaving violently. His shoulder trembled. His eyes shot around everywhere uncontrollably, trying to gather as much information as possible. He realized that he was in an unfamiliar hotel room and from the amount of light that flooded in through the window, it was daytime, although he noticed that it was extremely cloudy. Without a word, he scrambled off the bed and got to his feet. He touched his body and checked for any bleeding. Then, he turned toward the front door when a hand grabbed his shoulder. William flinched and slapped the hand away with a swipe.

"William!" The voice called. He froze and turned back slowly, his eyes wide with confusion. He breathed heavily through his clenched teeth. Irene was staring back at him with a half frightened, half concerned look. William took a step toward her to apologize but she backed away. He stopped dead. "Is that you, William?" She asked uncertainly. William nodded numbly, wondering why she was asking such question. She didn't believe him immediately and just stared back at him with a frightened face. It was only after a few seconds of tense atmosphere that she finally edged closer to him and hugged him. William couldn't hug her back. His feelings were too numb to do anything. "Oh you scared me for a moment there." She breathed. "You were unresponsive for nearly 15 minutes. It was the most frightening moment of my life." William blinked and studied that area as Irene kept rubbing her hand over his back reassuringly.

"Where are we?" He murmured. The hotel was smaller than the last one and not as nearly at luxurious either. "How did I get here?" Irene pulled away from him and looked into his eyes again. Her eyes wavered. She opened her mouth and closed it. She brushed a hand down his cheek.

"You…you don't remember? Last night, you and I checked into here, remember?" William shook his head. The expression on Irene's face darkened. "What do you last remember?"

"I was…in the cab with you and then…and then…" William tried to recall what happened. "I dozed off." He murmured. "Irene," He whispered in a cracked voice. "Why do I have blank spaces in my head? I…I…was…did you…did you carry me here?" His breathing became harder. She tried to sooth him down but panic and confusion was setting down upon him again.

"Shhh, shhh, you're okay. You're suffering from acute amnesia. It's nothing to worry about."

"No, no, it is something to worry about, Irene." William winced as he said these words. "I'm…I'm hearing voices." His eyes widened. "I haven't told you this before but I'm hearing voices. It's like there's another person inside of me." Irene stiffened at these words. She squeezed his arms tightly and her features tensed.

"Since when are you hearing voices?" She asked in a frighteningly soft voice.

"Yesterday," He choked. "But it wasn't as bad as it is right now. I only heard it once a while but now…now…" William kneaded his forehead with his fingers and crouched down. Irene kneeled down with him.

"William, are you hearing voices right now?" She asked him in an alarmed voice. William didn't answer. She shook his shoulders demandingly. "William, are you hearing the voices right now?" She demanded in a larger voice. William heaved a sigh and pressed the heel of his hands into his eye sockets and breathed out,

"What have you done to me, Irene?" The woman froze at these words. She let go of William as if he was poisonous. William looked up at her with an accusing look. "What are you hiding from me?" He pressed. Irene bit her lower lip and straightened herself up.

"William, the medication the doctors gave you…they were not safe. It causes you to have side effects like hallucinations, delusions, paranoia…I want you to trust me on this William. I'm only here to help you." William stared back at her with a black expression. Irene sighed. "You need to rest. Come on. You lie back down. I need to take a shower and then we could order something to eat." William nodded and let himself be escorted back into the bed. He heard a small voice in his head say _Wait until she's gone. You know what to do. _

The moment she was gone, William checked the sound of the shower being turned on before he checked his arm and legs. Then, he lifted his shirt up to see a new message written on his abdomen.

_PC DocumentsCovertCase78Holmes S. Password: concertono9_

_Check immediately _

William's mouth went dry the moment he saw the words. He knew exactly what it was talking about. He looked toward the direction of the shower room and then at the PC propped on the table. Sherlock Holmes must have seen the contents before him. He slid off the bed and edged closer toward the PC propped on top of the bedside table. He heard the thunder rumble in the distant.

…

"You lost them." The chief supervisor muttered. "You bloody lost them. They checked out of the hotel right under our nose. And why the bloody hell didn't the surveillance team report to us?" He rambled on in agitation as he paced around in his office.

"It turns out that the government got a whiff of this." Dr. Gail said in an exasperated tone. "The supreme director of the surveillance team was er…Mycroft Holmes. You know, the man that came for inspection a few days ago…" The chief inspector snapped his head up toward the doctor.

"What?"

"Mycroft Holmes obviously doesn't like us. He doesn't know what exactly we're doing but I have the feeling that he has something against us." Dr. Gail sighed. "I should have known that he runs the surveillance team before I contacted them." The chief supervisor didn't say anything. He just hand a hand down his cheek and rubbed at it. He always did that when he was thinking hard.

"Sir?" Gail asked uneasily.

"Mycroft Holmes came to inspect the area? He was the one who accessed into here?" Dr. Gail nodded. "Find Sherlock Holmes no matter what. I don't want any evidence. " He ordered and dismissed the doctor.

Mycroft Holmes, ah Mycroft Holmes; the brilliant man that never seizes to stand in his way

How many times had he wished to get rid of him? He hated that man from the first time he met. The eloquent attire, the posh attitude, his cold gaze and yet he smiled like an angel and charmed his way to the top of the British government. He was smart, oh yes, very smart. And at the same time, he was a cold, hungry shark, ready to thrash at anything that got in his way. But he would do it silently and under the water so that no one from the outside would notice. The chief supervisor clasped his hands together behind his back and grimaced. He could remember every single detail as if it was yesterday.

He was on the right track and was among the elites. He and Mycroft Holmes were always in the center of the attention as the government's new stars. They did their job and they did it exceedingly well. While Mycroft Holmes had his massive intellect and his amazingly sly social skills, he had nothing but hard work and persistence. Mycroft Holmes never had to try. Luck was always on his side. That was why he never liked him. Holmes never deserved all the attention he got. He never liked how he had to share his glory with a spoiled spineless pretty boy like Mycroft Holmes. He deserved all the attention. It was supposed to be him and him alone.

That was why he never felt guilty when he received his first stack of cash from one of his corporate partners. Unlike Mycroft Holmes, who was popular within the politicians, he was popular between the corporations, especially the medical and research corporations. He scratched their back and they scratched his back. He did them favors. He passed laws that boosted their business; they paid him back with part of their profits. At first it was a just a sign of gratitude but after a few months and years, it became millions of pounds. He had to create several bank accounts under fake companies to receive all the money. Cash poured into the accounts like a river and he completely lost track of the amount of wealth. Money laundering took place and so did tax evasion. He hid his tracks well. He thought he covered everything up. He felt no guilt. He was just doing his job and he deserved all the fortune after all the hard work. It was all good until Mycroft Holmes found out.

Everything was quick. He never noticed until Holmes launched an accusation at him and posted all the evidence onto the table. Then, an arrest warrant for crime of corruption was sent. _Bribery, _that's what they called it. No, for him it was a reward equivalent for his efforts. He worked hard for the job. Mycroft Holmes would never be able to imagine how hard he worked to get to this position. He would never…He hated the way that man smirked at him as he was standing in court. The government decided to keep the whole issue a hush-hush for they feared that the public would be enraged by it. In exchange, he was exiled from the center of the world of politics and was sent to this research dump hole. The whole facility was barely functioning. The Advanced Criminal Reinstitution Program was never taken seriously. It was just a fake research where corrupted or useless politicians were dumped into. It was a rubbish bin for the government. His post as a chief supervisor of the research facility was a different way of saying "dried out to die". He hated the place. He hated his job. The only reason why he stuck to it was because he needed a job.

It was about a year ago when he received an anonymous mail with a series of personal information about Mycroft Holmes. The date of his birth to his childhood to his family background was carefully reported. At first, he never paid attention to it. He thought it was some kind of trickery. He was completely exhausted and didn't have the energy to even feel enraged toward Mycroft Holmes's exploitation. It was only when he started receiving news about his promotion that he started to feel something boiling up inside of him.

_That was supposed to be my position. _

Then, he started hearing news about his brother's career as well. It wasn't as glorious as Mycroft Holmes's but he was drawing some attention and popularity in London. It seemed that Sherlock Holmes was just as brilliant as his brother. Suddenly, he wanted to crush the two of them. The more the Holmes brother thrived, the more the hatred grew. It was only after he heard the death of his friend, Dr. Robert Frankland from Baskerville that he started to focus his attention on Sherlock Holmes. The man seemed to be a very curious person. He didn't have the social grace that Mycroft Holmes had but was just as dangerous. The more he researched about him, the more he found out about his sociopathic nature. It was then that he finally came up with the perfect revenge.

…

When Irene emerged from the shower, she found William sitting at the foot of the bed with his hands clasped together. He was staring at the floor with a faraway look in his eyes. She was about to open her mouth to say something when William spoke in a low, cracked voice,

"Your real name is not Irene Adler." He looked up at her with a cold glint in his eyes. "Hello, Doctor Lydia Marlowe." She froze and stopped drying her hair with the towel. She stared back at him with an incredulous look for a few seconds and then let out an uneasy laugh.

"What are you talking about?" Her face twitched in an uneasy grimace. William closed his eyes and pointed at her laptop which was left on at atop the bedside table. Her stomach dropped as she saw the screen. Somehow, William had managed to break the passcode and look into the experiment reports. Her hands shook as she edged closer to the laptop and check if what she was seeing was real.

"Day 14, the subject is left delirious due to series of tranquilizing psychiatric medication. Signs of disrupted sleep. Rambles on childhood memories…."

"William," She called out warningly.

"Day 26, after the second shock therapy, the subject seemed to have lost complete sense of his own identity. He is absolutely incapable of recalling his name or memories. Physical distress and trauma had helped suppress his memory. Will move to the second phase of experiment as soon as he gains full consciousness."

"Will,"

"Day 45" William raised his voice and stood up to his feet and towered over her. There was a hostile glint in his eyes that she had never seen. It didn't have the deadly looked that Sherlock Holmes had when he was enraged but it was somewhat similar to it. Except William's eyes showed more pain than rage. "Subject demonstrates sign of violent personality deformation. Half strangled the partner to death. Managed to disarm him by using a Taser gun. More need for psychological and physical therapy. Back to phase one." He paused to draw in a short breath. "_Partner_, does that mean you?" He narrowed his eyes. Irene or Lydia backed away.

"Day 50," William pushed Lydia against the wall roughly. She bumped into the hard surface helplessly. "Subject fails to show any sign of progress. Dr. Gail induces him D-12. Goes into shock due to excessive physical exhaustion and minor malnutrition. Vitals are unstable and signs of severe dehydration. Spontaneous shock effects. Don't know how long he can last. Gail orders the subject to be disposed if all fails." His voice cracks. Lydia stared up at him with a fearful look in her eyes. She wouldn't be surprised if William strangled her to death at that moment. He looked like he could do it anytime. Then, suddenly, William's voice trembled and his features shifted.

"Day 51…" He pressed a hand to her shoulder but it was a gentle push. His hands were trembling and so was Lydia's. "Subject gains consciousness. Incredibly weak with no recollection of the past few day's events. The alter personality returns. Subject is confused and incredibly exhausted. Shows sign of strong affection before collapsing back to shock. I have no idea how long I can stand this. Must stay distant." Suddenly, William leans forward the presses his lips onto hers. Lydia closes her eyes and raises her hand to embrace his face. She pressed her lips harder against his. For a moment they just stand there like that, trembling and lost. Lydia realizes that William is crying as a tear roll down his cheek and his shoulder increases its tremble. Slowly he breaks away from her and looks down at her with a pained look.

"Where you able to keep your distance, Dr. Marlowe? Is this all just an act? Please answer me truthfully." He breathed. Another drop of tear trickled down his face. Lydia stared back at him with a stunned look. For a moment there the two just stood there like that. She could hear the faint noise of water spattering down the window as it began to shower. When she didn't answer, William bowed his head and heaved a sigh. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. She caught her in time before he hit the floor.

"It was…" She started as she pressed William toward her so he can lean on her. "All an act." She started slowly but the moment she said this, her breath hitched and she found herself sobbing. "All an act." She repeated more to herself than to William. The man's shoulders stiffened. She hugged him tightly.

"No…I love you William. I love you so much. But you don't exist. I shouldn't love you. You're not William. You're Sherlock Holmes." She drew in a shuddery breath. "Every moment…every second I spent with you…It hurt so much. I love you, William, I love you." She spoke and kissed his neck. She repeated those words and kept on laying kisses on his hair and neck. William didn't reply. He just sat there, his muscles tensed and his breathing shallow. Suddenly, he got to his feet and looked down at her. Lydia looked up with an ashamed look on her face. His face was wet with tears but he wasn't crying anymore. His eyes were cold and accusing.

"If you loved me, then why did you do this to me?" He murmured in a cracked voice and stormed out of the room and out into the corridor, leaving Lydia behind…or he was about to when the world suddenly turned gray and all the sound disappeared. It was as if someone pressed the mute button. His limbs stopped working and he toppled to the floor.

Lydia gave out a gasp as William collapsed again. This time, he hit his head on the corner of the table before he collided onto the floor with a deafening thud. She scrambled over to him with alarm. The fall was nasty. When she turned him over, there was a huge gnash on the left side of temple and it was bleeding excessively. The floor was tiled instead of carpet so the collision must have caused a concussion. She hoped that it wasn't serious. As usual, William's eyes were agape and lifeless. She checked his reflexes just in case and for any neck injuries. Then, she carefully dragged his heavy figure toward the bed as she sobbed. What was she going to do? Hell, what had she done? She stared down at the limp body and reached to close William's eye lids. He hung her head and heaved a sigh. Then, she slapped the laptop close and stared out the window. She thought hard about what to do. Then, after pondering in silence for thirty minutes, she finally picked up the hotel phone and dialed.

…

It was an hour later when he finally stirred back to life. Sherlock blinked up at the ceiling and wondered how long time had passed. The sun was already going down. He was still in the hotel. This must mean that he was out for only a few hours. Had William seen his message? If so, why hadn't he left the hotel yet? Why was he with Irene or Lydia? Wasn't the rational reaction to walk out of the place as soon as he read the horrific reports? As he sat up, he realized that Dr. Marlowe was looking out the window from a couch. She seemed contended and calm. When she noticed Sherlock stirring, she turned her head slowly at him. Her expression was steely and showed no emotion. Sherlock looked back at her questioningly as he wondered what had happened.

"Hello, Sherlock" She began. Sherlock let out a silent sigh. He was tired to faking to be William.

"It was about time you noticed." He muttered back.

"Amnesia…I should have known better. You were just faking as William weren't you? That's why he kept on having blank memories."

"Obviously" he blinked back and studied her. After all these days and weeks, it was the first time the two had a proper conversation. "Did he see it?" He tilted his head toward the closed laptop. Lydia grimaced.

"Yes, he had a bit of an emotional breakdown."

"So did you." Sherlock mused as he looked at her puffy eyes. "So you do love…him." He was careful not to say "_me"_. He knew that Lydia was not attracted to Sherlock Holmes. She even feared him after all the violent behavior he had shown to her.

"He doesn't love me anymore. He was going to leave me when he suddenly collapsed and you…emerged." She waved her hand randomly toward Sherlock's direction to indicate what she meant. Sherlock sat upright and pressed his fingers together in a thinking position.

"Speaking of which...it must be the side effect of whatever your colleague had given me." He began.

"It seems so." The doctor answered in a faraway tone.

"I lose consciousness every time I switch personalities. It never happened before." He muttered. "Then again, a lot of things never happened until _this_." The doctor winced at Sherlock's accusation. She sighed.

"And you collapse more often and it seems that your time of unresponsiveness is getting longer and longer. At first it was only a few seconds…then a minute, and now it took 30 minutes for you to come back."

"And William is starting to dominate my personality." Sherlock added in a brisk tone. "The things you've done to me." He shook his head and heaved a sigh. The two sat there in silence for a while as the detective studied her features.

"The Advanced Criminal Reinstitution Program…" He started. "I've read something about that before. I thought that that research was barely functioning. It seems that I was wrong."

"It wasn't functioning until recently. The chief supervisor changed and then policies changed. Thing became more active…staffs increased and test subjects increased as well." She grimaced at this.

"And I was a perfect candidate to substitute a _criminal_?" Sherlock mused. She looked back at him a pained look.

"It's a lot more complicated than that. We need test subject that fits the variables. You were perfect. You were intelligent, antisocial with a sign of slight bipolar personality disorder but not excessive enough to be overly apparent. Criminals are usually like that…they're teetering between stability and instability and the intelligent ones are usually more dangerous and harder to reinstitute."

"I must agree with that." He muttered as he thought about Moriarty. "But I'm a bit unsure on whether I should be happy or insulted by your description of me." He admitted truthfully. She stared down at her feet shamefully. "So…" he continued. "What are your evaluations, Doctor?" Lydia looked up at him with a confused look. Sherlock shrugged.

"Am I properly _reinstituted? _Did your methods work, Doctor? I must admit they were rather unpleasant…and left some after effects that doesn't seem to be healing any time soon." The corner of his mouth twitched as he indicated at the laptop. "It took me nearly hours to get myself to touch that. Thanks to your shock therapy, I have a strange fear of electronics and…" His eyes shifted out the window. "And toward open spaces"

"I'm sorry." She murmured.

"Yes, you should be." He said dryly. "You have no idea how much I want to hurt you right now." He added with no emotion. She glanced back at him with a slightly alarmed look but then sighed and lifted her arms.

"Go ahead. I deserve it."

"I can't." She looked at him questioningly. Sherlock grimaced and looked down at his hands. They were trembling. The corner of his mouth twitched again.

"Every time I try to exert strong emotions, my body trembles and…I have get flashbacks." He closed his eyes and winced. "That D-12…I guess it keeps me from running to violent outbursts or strong emotional expressions." He laughed weakly. "As if I need any more assistance with that."

"Dr. Gail made a huge mistake. If it weren't for D-12, by now you would have been-"

"Fully reinstituted?" Sherlock asked with a flash in his eyes. "I don't know whether to thank him or not. But then again, he wants me dead doesn't he?"

"The chief supervisor wants all evidence eliminated. That includes you _and _me." She muttered. "I have all the experiment data in there." She pointed at the lap top. "They'll kill to have it back."

"I can imagine." Sherlock said in a distant tone.

"And so I'm going to give it to them."

"What." Sherlock snapped his head up with a furrowed brow. Lydia smiled back at him.

"It was nice to talking with you, Sherlock."

* * *

A/N

The end of the story is near :)

Thank you thank you thank you so much for reading this far and all the lengthy reviews. Above all, thank you so much for all your patience!

Some people may have noticed but the name Lydia Marlowe is not such a random name. It's actually a character from the 1945 movie, Sherlock Holmes & The Woman in Green. A nice movie with Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes. Check them out if you haven't seen them yet!


	10. Chapter 10

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked and sat up straight.

"I just called Gail…I'm going to make a deal with them. In exchange for the data in my PC, I'm going to ask for a guarantee of my safety. At the same time, I'll give them the fake address of your whereabouts. You'll have enough time to get help." Sherlock brushed a hand up to his arm as he remembered the phone number he had scribbled on his skin for William. He wondered if it was still there.

"Do you think they would buy that?" Sherlock asked in an emotionless tone. Lydia didn't answer right away.

"No, but it should be enough for you to get away." Sherlock blinked.

"Protective of your experiments, are we? What about the data? Are you going to hand them all in?" Lydia stood up from her couch and turned toward Sherlock. Her face was stern. She pulled out a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to Sherlock, who eyed it curiously.

"Don't open it yet." She started and squeezed her hand over Sherlock's. "I uploaded all files onto the internet. That password should disclose the account and all the information that's inside it. Keep it safe." Sherlock nodded and pocketed it into his trousers.

"Is that it, you're going to let me go to save the data?"

"You of all people should know how important data are. And besides, it has all the records of what we have done to you." She murmured. "I'm really sorry." Sherlock pursed his lips in reply. Lydia looked at her watch.

"If my calculations are correct, you would lose consciousness in two more hours. Then, you would back out for another two hours and then regain consciousness as William. I'll stay here while you're awake but by the time William returns, I'll be gone. I'll leave a note to tell him what to do, but you make sure he follows through." She instructed in a dry tone. Sherlock frowned.

"How do you expect me to do that?"

"He can hear your voice." She explained as she packed the laptop into her bag. "He complained about it earlier in the day. He's fully aware of your pretense."

"Well…that's good news." Sherlock mused. After that, Lydia handed him his clothes to Sherlock. It wasn't a pair of jeans and shirt that William used to wear. It was Sherlock attire with the familiar slim cut jacket, black open collar shirt and trousers. He took a long hot shower and changed as Lydia packed the rest of her belongings. Once Sherlock was dressed, he carefully wrote John's number on the inside of his left wrist and looked back at himself in the mirror. His hair was shorter than before but his curls were back. He realized that there was a rather nasty gash on his forehead which he guessed he got it from the last collapse. He straightened the creases of his suit out. He felt like himself in the familiar attire. Freedom was near and his heart thrived for it. This was all going to be over very soon. He ignored the light switch as he left the room. He couldn't turn it off. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to for a long time. What would happen even if he managed to escape from this whole ordeal? His psychological trauma would take an agonizingly long time before they heal completely. As he lurched out of the bathroom, he noticed that Lydia was done with her packing. She was tugging onto her coat. Noticing Sherlock's presence, she turned around to face him. She gestured at the couch.

"Here, sit down, let me take a look at that cut." Sherlock didn't hesitate as he plopped himself on the couch. He flicked an uneasy look at the window and edged the couch away from a little before Lydia crouched in front of him. She cleaned the cut with cotton and pulled out a bandage from her bag. She carefully taped it on his head. Sherlock stared back at her auburn eyes silently as she tended to him. Finally, he remarked,

"You love him. That's why you're letting me go." Lydia closed her bag and heaved a sigh. She looked back at Sherlock with a tired look. Sherlock could tell that she was confused. Slowly, she leaned closer to him and pressed her lips gently on Sherlock's. The detective's first instinct was to recoil but he closed his eyes and waited until it passed. He knew that the kiss was not meant for him. It was for William. As Lydia drew back, she blinked back her tears and murmured,

"Tell William that I love him. I always will." She looked down at her watch and stood up. She grabbed her luggage and started toward the door.

"Wait," Sherlock got to his feet and followed after her. She turned back to him hesitantly. "In the report, you said that my musical taste changed. You said that William prefers artists that I never listen to. Who was that artist?" Lydia flashed a weak smile at him as she answered,

"Miles Davis."

"I'll have to remember to…" But before Sherlock could finish the sentence, his knees buckled and he crumbled to the floor as his brain shut down for his personality replacement. Lydia caught him and gently spread him across the bed sheet. Then, pressed a note into his limp hand and closed his lifeless eyes. She leaned over him and laid another kiss on his forehead before she slipped out of the room.

…

Gail pulled the car into the vast parking lot. A figure was already awaiting him in the middle of the open space, standing in the heavy rain with no umbrella. Her hair and clothes were drenched. She must have been standing there for more than 15 minutes. Gail and several of his colleagues advanced toward her briskly.

"Dr. Marlowe!" Gail called out. The woman took a few steps toward him with the luggage dragging behind her. He held out his hand to shake hands but she didn't return the gesture so he pulled it back immediately. "It was wise for you to come to your senses."

"I couldn't keep control of him. He's sedated at the moment; Sleeping like a baby at the hotel."

"And what about the data?" Gail asked.

"It's all in here." She handed the laptop over, careful not to expose it to the rain. "If you want to check, go ahead. I can wait." She shivered slightly in the rain. Gail nodded and received the instrument from her hand. Then, he handed it to one of his orderlies who flipped it open.

"How is our test subject doing?" Gail asked casually. Lydia shrugged.

"Like I told you, he's going out of control. That thing you gave him seems to keep him from doing violent things but he's becoming paranoid. He has panic attacks frequently." Gail nodded as he heard this.

"I guess we have no choice but to let him go then." Lydia's throat tightened at these words. "And his current whereabouts?" Lydia recited the name of the hotel and the room number. A man behind Gail relayed the information to someone on the other side of his mobile phone. Once the call was done, he looked up at Gail and nodded. The bearded doctor glanced back at Lydia and smiled.

"Now, all we have to do is wait."

Lestrade and John were taking a temporal nap in their car when they received a call from Mycroft.

"They found Sherlock. Gail's men are heading toward the hotel right this moment. I want you guys to reach the place before they do." Lestrade sat up in the driver's seat as he started the engine. John snapped out of his slumber immediately too. The ex-soldier was fully alert by the time Lestrade pulled out of the parking lot. "Right, tell me the address. Gotcha, that's probably only a few minutes from here." Lestrade answered briskly and turned the phone off. As he reached the traffic lights, Lestrade flipped on the sirens and the cruiser skidded down at the highway and the rain.

…

William opened his eyes and blinked. It took several minutes before he remembered where he was. It was completely dark in the hotel room and he could hear the rain splashing hard outside. He stared up at the dark ceiling with a numb feeling .All the details before he had collapsed, set in his head piece by piece. He remembered the details he had read in Irene (or Lydia's) laptop. He remembered how he had confronted her. The confused kiss and the moment he decided to leave her…and then…

_Hell, I collapsed. _

William slowly lifted himself up and rolled to the side to flip the bed lamp on. The moment the light came on, he winced. Once his eyes got used to the brightness, he slipped out of the bed, wondering where that woman had gone. Did she run away? Her belongings were missing. Suddenly, Will realized there was a piece of paper crumpled in his hand. He opened his fist and looked inside. He plucked the paper and spread it on the bed as he smoothed out the creases. At first, he thought it was a memo by Sherlock but the hand writing was less flashy and more contended. The "y"s and the "g"s didn't have Sherlock's flourish and the "a"s and the "c"s had a peculiar loop.

_Dear William,_

_I'm sorry for everything that I have done to you. _

_You asked me why I did such things if I truly loved you. I asked the same question over and over again to myself and reached one final conclusion. _

_I don't expect to be forgiven or seek for redemption. But please understand that what I am about to do (or am doing at the moment you're reading this) is solely because I love you, and I always will. _

_Pay attention to what Sherlock says. He will guide you through the rest of your ordeal. Call for help immediately. _

_Lydia Marlowe_

William flipped the paper over and looked for anything else that he had missed. There was nothing. He racked his head and wondered what she was talking about. What was she doing? What did she mean by "call for help immediately?" Suddenly, a small voice erupted in his head.

_John Watson_

_But who is he? _

_Just call the number._

William rolled up his left sleeve to see the familiar phone number written on it.

_But what about Irene?_

_Lydia's gone. _

William got to his feet slowly. He realized that he wasn't in his usual attire and was instead wearing a rather expensive outfit.

_Gone where? _

_Gone for good. _

Suddenly, William felt blood rushing from his face. He picked up the crumpled paper again and read the letter over and over again, word for word. His heart thumped. The more he read it, the more it looked like a suicide note.

John and Lestrade dashed out of the car and hurried toward the elevator. Once they slipped inside the cargo, they checked whether their guns were properly loaded. John hid the gun under his jacket and went toward the right end of the corridor while Lestrade whipped his out and aimed it right in front of him. They dashed down the carpeted hall and held their breaths as they reached their destination. Lestrade double checked the room. It was right. Lestrade nodded at John. The doctor swallowed and knocked the door, his right hand still hidden under the jacket. Lestrade looked out for him. There was no reply. John knocked again.

"Sherlock!" He hissed. There still was no reply. John eyed Lestrade. The detective inspector nodded. He gestured John to back away. The doctor obeyed. Lestrade leveled the gun with the door knob and pulled the trigger twice swiftly. Splinters flew as the door was pierced with bullets. As soon as Lestrade stopped firing, John kicked and the door. It swung open. The room was completely dark.

"Sherlock," Lestrade called as he turned on the lights. No one was there.

"Shit" John breathed.

"Shit it is." Said an unfamiliar voice from behind them. The two men jumped and whipped around. A man they did not recognize was standing there. "Good job for the swift reaction boys." The man said with a smile and raised his mobile phone. "Yes, it's me. There's no one here."

The man shook his head as he held the phone by his ear. Gail squared his jaw and turned back to Lydia who looked back at him fearlessly.

"You lied." He said coolly. Lydia stared back at him. He realized that her shoulders were shaking from the cold but her eyes showed no sign of waver of will. "Where is he?" Lydia didn't say anything. "Tell me where he really is." He demanded coldly. Still no reply. "Trying to be clever, are you?" For a few moments, only the sound of the rain hitting the pavement could be heard. With a swift movement, Gail pulled out his handgun and flicked his index finger over the trigger. There was a deafening crack and before anyone realized what was going on, a bullet pierced through Lydia's forehead and escaped from the other side of her head. Her soaked body collapsed to the cold wet ground with a dull thud. Gail turned back toward the car and ordered,

"Find him."

…

Will paced around the hotel room and breathed heavily. Where did she go? He had to find her. Tell her that he needed her. He needed to talk to her. He had to tell her that whatever she was doing was unnecessary. It was dangerous. He didn't want her to get in danger. He needed her by his side.

_I have to find her. _

Without a second thought, William burst out of the hotel door and into the corridor. He bolted toward the stairs and pushed himself out from the emergency exit door. It was completely dark outside and raining hard. He was in the back of the hotel, near the parking lot. He could see the road just up ahead. He looked around the area desperately, searching for any hints. Water poured down his face, making in eyesight blurry. The water was cold but he didn't care. He let the water get soaked into the fabric of his clothes.

_I have to find her. Get her back; tell her that I need her. _

_William, _

_She shouldn't have left. It's not safe. _

_William, _

_She couldn't have gone so far. Unless she took a cab…_

_WILLIAM! _

William squeezed his eyes shut.

"WHAT?" He screamed into the showering sky.

_She's gone. _

_No, she can't be gone._

_Looking for her is not your job. Call John. _

William ignored the voice and huffed. He started toward the main road.

_Do not go out onto the main street. _

William ignored the warning and ushered on.

_They will kill you. DO NOT GO TO THE MAINSTREET._

William pressed on, but the closer he got to the road, the more his body trembled both out of the cold and from fear. He gritted his teeth. They were just cars. There was nothing to be afraid about. Yet, the thought of countless people walking by made his heart skip a beat. Fear made his legs stoop. He gritted his teeth and clutched his fists. He ordered his legs to move but it didn't budge.

"Come on, move." He said through his gritted teeth but nothing happened. He looked back at the road. The headlights flashed by and it made him flinch. Pain erupted through his body. His breathing became shallow. Memories flashed before him. The flashing lights, pain, the countless screams he had conjured, the strained muscles, the burnt flesh…William sunk to his knees and hunched over his stomach. The cold rain pounded on the back of his head. A sob broke out as he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. What were these memories? Where did they come from? William tried to push himself to stand upright but the flashes frightened him.

_Get a grip of yourself. This is what she did to you. _

A cool voice said in his head. William shook his head.

_You read the reports. You know it happened. Call John. _

"I have to find her." William said through his clenched teeth but another flashback caused him to bury his head into his hands.

_She's dead. _

"No."

_She's dead. _

"No, she's out there somewhere…." Suddenly, he heard the faint noise of the police siren from the distance. William widened his eyes. He remembered Sherlock's previous warning; _don't call the police_. As if on cue, Sherlock's voice erupted in his head again.

_William, Lydia…Irene told me to tell you that she loved you and always will. If you get caught right now…If the wrong kind of police finds you right now…what would Irene's sacrifice be worth? The fact that they are looking for you means that she's long gone. Accept it, pull yourself together and get help. _

William hung his head and bit down his lips. He bit down so hard that it drew blood. His hair matted over his forehead. He was shivering violently in the cold. After a few seconds of self-meditation, he pulled himself up from the floor and dragged his feet away from the main street and into the shadows of the buildings. He needed to find somewhere where he could make a phone call.

_Hurry, you don't have long until you black out. _

_I know. _

After what seemed liked ages, William found a phone box in a rather deserted small street. He was completely soaked and his clothing was heavy from all the water it had soaked up. Fatigue was taking over him now that that the adrenaline and panic had ebbed away. All he could feel was despair. His shivering wet hands grabbed the receiver. He dropped some loose chains and peeled his left sleeve up again. The number was smeared but he could barely tell the numbers. Slowly, with hollow eyes, he started the dial the numbers. He didn't know whether it was raindrops or tears rolling uncontrollably down his cheeks.

…

John and Lestrade managed to fake themselves as average policemen as the man scanned around the room and sighed. The two men exchanged uneasy glances. The unknown man was obviously a worker from the research facility.

"Well, boys, looks like we need to start sweeping again." The man said and patted a hand at Lestrade's shoulders before he strode out of the room. One his footsteps were inaudible, the two let out a sigh of relief.

"False alarm…" Lestrade breathed. John didn't know whether he should be glad about it or not. Lestrade seemed to have the same feeling. The two hurried down toward the elevator, out into the parking lot and climbed into their cars as they brushed off the rain from their jackets. John looked at his watch. It was two in the morning. Lestrade leaned back on his driver's seat and heaved a sigh. He took a pen from the side pockets and flicked it at the dashboard.

"Now what, do we wait for another false alarm? The facility staffs and the other police are looking frantically for Lydia Marlowe." As if on cue, there was another phone call on Lestrade's phone. He looked at the caller ID and answered swiftly.

"Yes," He said and there was a moment of pause as John watched the detective inspector's face lose color. The doctor frowned. "What…no, I'll be there immediately." He said and looked up at John with an alarmed look.

"Lydia Marlowe was just found dead." John felt a weird rushing noise in his ear. "But no other bodies so far…" Lestrade started the engine again. "We're heading toward the crime scene."

By the time the two arrived, the scene was already secured and blue sheets were blocking their view. Numerous police officers were buzzing around the place. Lestrade climbed out of the car and hurried toward the center of the scene, followed by John. The two were just able to see the body being zipped into the body bag. John bit his lower lip. His heart pounded.

"A bullet in the head from a point blanc range." Lestrade explained to John as he returned from chatting with one of the investigators. John's mouth was dry.

"Do you think..."

"No, it's too early to say that." Lestrade snapped before John could finish the sentence. Just then, John realized that his phone was buzzing in his pocket.

William was shivering like mad. The surrounding unnerved him. The artificial light that came from the phone box made his eyesight flash. The darkness and the rumbling thunder in the distance made his fingers twitch. As he waited for the phone to connect, he tried to suppress his teeth from chattering and leaned back on the grimy glass. As the line connected and started to play the dial tone, he exhaled weakly and slid down onto the floor. He checked the smeared number on his wrist. He was pretty sure that he dialed the correct number. He hugged his knees and tried to keep himself from whimpering. Suddenly, a man's voice answered,

"Hello?" William's eyes fluttered. He drew in a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. "Hello?" The voice said again. William mustered his strength to fight the cold.

"J-John Watson?" His voice cracked.

"Yes, who is this?" The man said suspiciously.

"Sherlock Holmes t-told me to…call you." William stuttered weakly. There was a moment of silence.

"Who is this?" William looked up at the ceiling, unsure how to answer.

"W-William Cr-Craw…ford. Sherlock told me that y-you would be able to h-h-help me." There was a long silence and William realized that this John person was going to wait until William provided him with more information. "Hurry…" William rasped the name of the street he was on.

_Tell him I'm here. _

A voice said faintly in his head but before he could say anything, the man on the other line gasped.

"Sherlock…is that _you_?" He asked in a hushed voice. "Tell me it's you." The voice begged. William shook his head.

"You don't understand…I'm not…Sh-Sherlock H-Holmes. But he will be here…he w-will be here v-very soon."

_Hurry_

The voice demanded in his head before the lights in front of William disappeared and his hands went limp. The receiver crashed onto the floor with a clang.

John wanted to shout for Sherlock's name when he heard a clang.

"Hello, hello?" He demanded urgently. There was no reply but he could tell that the line was still on from the faint static-like noise from the other side. It was probably the noise of the rain.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked, sensing John's alarm. The doctor's fingers shook slightly as he looked up at the detective inspector.

"I got a call from…someone." He said with wide eyes. "It sounded like Sherlock but it wasn't. Something wasn't right. He told me to come immediately." Lestrade looked hard at John.

"You sure?"

"I don't….I'm not sure. But he seemed weak. Asked for my help." Before they knew it, the two were dashing toward their car.

John fumbled with the phone when he dialed Mycroft as Lestrade drove his car hard through the streets.

"Yes," Mycroft answered in an alert tone.

"It's me, John. I just got a call from someone that sounded like Sherlock."

"What." The elder Holmes blurted.

"He seemed delirious…told me he was William something but he really sounded like Sherlock…but weaker. He told me the address where he was at and asked me to come immediately. We're heading there right away."

"Are you sure about that?" There was a moment of pause.

"No, but I need to make sure. I'm going to call the paramedics. It looks like the caller collapsed during the call. I'm getting no response."

"The normal paramedics might be controlled by Gail. I'll send our specialized paramedics, then." Mycroft replied briskly. "Tell me the address."


	11. Chapter 11

"Stop the car!" John shouted and Lestrade stepped on the break with a start. Before the detective inspector could fully halt the vehicle, John opened the passenger seat door and bolted out into ice cold shower.

"John!" Lestrade called and dashed after him. John wasn't sure but he thought he saw a figure sitting in the phone box. Lestrade and John had been sweeping up and down around the area for more than 10 minutes, expecting someone to be standing there but John realized that he had made an obvious mistake. The call was from an unknown number, meaning that ether the mobile phone was set to be anonymous, or the caller had contacted John from a public phone. Stupid, how could he be so stupid? John cursed as he blindly dashed through the rain, towards the light flooding from the telephone box. There was no one else there. It was only John and Lestrade. He could hear the faint noise of the paramedic's siren. Mycroft's medical staffs were soon to arrive. John was a few meters away from the telephone box when he noticed that the shadow he had seen was indeed a person. He took a few more swift strides toward the light when his knees buckled and his heart skipped several beats. "Oh god no…." He breathed and picked up his pace. Lestrade's footsteps splashed closely behind him. John collided into the glass wall of the phone box and he scrambled to find the door.

"Sherlock!" John screamed. His hands slipped over the handle several times but he managed to pry it open. "SHERLOCK!" the ex-army doctor's voice cracked as he dived toward the limp, drenched body of his long lost flat mate. John grabbed the man's limp shoulders and the moment he looked up at his face, his heart froze. "No, no, no…" John muttered as he realized that Sherlock's light blue-green eyes were open and lifeless. He grabbed the long slender hands and gasped. They were ice cold. Lestrade approached John and looked inside the phone box over John's shoulder.

"Is…Is that Sherlock?" The detective inspector breathed.

"Sherlock," John wasn't listening. He was desperate for a sign of life from Sherlock. He shook the shoulders gently. Sherlock's head lolled to the side, his mouth slightly open, and hair matted and completely soaked.

"Hell, what's wrong with him, what happened?" Lestrade asked in a shaky voice.

"I don't know." John breathed and desperately searched for a pulse. "He's breathing but…" The consulting detective was like a doll. John squeezed the man's hand and shivered. "He's freezing cold. We need to keep him warm or he's going to suffer from hypothermia." Lestrade was just about the suggest carrying him into the dry, warm car when he heard the siren getting louder and louder. John grabbed Sherlock under his arms and dragged the tall figure out of the phone box and into the rain. Sherlock's neck snapped up and he stared blankly upward. Lestrade shivered at the scene. He hurried toward Sherlock's legs and grabbed them. The two hauled him out to the open space and tried their best to keep the rain away from the limp figure by strapping off their jackets and holding it over Sherlock's body.

"Sherlock," John called out. "It's me, John. You're safe now. You're safe…so please say something dammit." There was no reply. He opened his mouth again to say something when an ambulance came to a stop beside them and the paramedics filed out of the vehicle. They crouched beside Sherlock's body and nodded at John.

"Doctor John Watson?" The man who seemed to be in charge asked. John nodded numbly. The soaked shirt stuck to his skin and his hair was drenched. The man looked down at Sherlock. "Is he the one?" John nodded again. Several staffs appeared and placed an umbrella over John and Lestrade. The man in charge took a pen light from his pocket and swiftly checked the consulting detective's reflexes. The pupils constricted. John squared his jaws.

"His reflexes are fine…"

"His pulse is stable too." John added. The medic stripped off his mask and leaned closer to Sherlock's blank face.

"Mr. Holmes…? Can you hear me Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock didn't even stir.

"Sherlock, please answer me…Sherlock, oh please just say something for me." John pleaded. Lestrade bowed. There was no reply. The medics bustled around as they pulled out a stretcher. John gritted his teeth and grabbed Sherlock's shoulders.

"What have they done to him? What's wrong with him? For god's sake Sherlock, say something! ANYTHING!" he shouted. Sherlock's face lolled to the side. The medics urged John away from Sherlock as they wrapped their arms around the limp limbs. Lestrade tugged at John as the doctor shouted in a half sob, "What's wrong with him?"

"John," Lestrade murmured in his ear. He tried to make it sound reassuring but he couldn't. They were both too shaken by Sherlock's lifeless state. John bit his lower lip and turned to Lestrade.

"It better be a sedative or an anesthesia. What did they give him? Who was that on the phone?" John blurted. Ever since Sherlock went missing, John had always thought that he would find Sherlock in a fit state, even slightly annoyed. He expected Sherlock to say something like,

"What took you so long?" and let out a disappointed huff. He never imagined in his whole life that he would find Sherlock in such a debilitated, lifeless state. Lestrade placed a hand over John's soaking wet shoulder and lowered his head.

"I don't know John. But we found him. We found him…" Lestrade tried to flash a reassuring smile but the muscles on his face contorted into a pained expression. The paramedics finished loading Sherlock into the ambulance. John took a step toward the ambulance but Lestrade tugged his arm. "We'll follow it. Get in the car." John looked at the detective inspector and then back at the ambulance. He could see Sherlock's body lying on the stretcher. John lowered his gaze and nodded. He couldn't bare sitting beside that lifeless remains. If Sherlock had been shot, stabbed, wounded or taken ill, he would have followed into the vehicle but John couldn't find the courage to sit along with the current Sherlock. It was too frightening. It was too empty.

"God, what have they done to him?" he breathed shakily as he climbed into Lestrade's cruiser. Lestrade started the engine with a grimace and said dryly,

"We should call Mycroft."

…

Ominous voices and words murmured in the far distance and faded in and out of his ear shot. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Everything was white. For a moment, he thought he was back to the beginning where it all began. His fingers twitched nervously at the thought. Sherlock reached up to his head and checked if he was restrained. There was nothing strapped around his head. He looked down to see that he was in a bed, not a metal slab. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

_Where am I? Am I back in the research facility?_

He hearted thumped nervously. Sherlock scanned the room to see that a window to his right showed shadows going back and forth behind the blinds. Sherlock squared his jaw at the thought of countless doctors and nurses shuffling down the corridor. He also noticed a constant beeping noise. Tensing his shoulder, he turned his head to the left to see a monitor showing his vitals. The consulting detective widened his eyes. He fought the impulse to rip the electrodes off himself. Squeezing his eyes shut, he told himself that it was just at heart rate monitor. He tried to block out the beeping noise from his head but the more he tried, the quicker the beeping became.

_Relax, relax…._

Just then, the doorknob shifted and a figure walked into the room. Sherlock held his breath and wished it wasn't the bearded doctor.

"Sherlock…!" A familiar voice exclaimed. It took a while for Sherlock to register the owner of the voice. It's been so long since he last saw his short hair and dark eyes that filled with warmth. Sherlock pressed against the mattress the sit up.

"John," He croaked. Relief spread through him as his friend strode toward him. The closer he got, the more confident he became that this was all not just a dream. It was all finally over. Sherlock was safe. John hurried toward Sherlock and held his face in his hands to check the lymph nodes. Then, he swiftly checked his eyes and mouth like a busy doctor. As soon as he made sure that there was nothing evidently wrong with Sherlock, John hugged him firmly and patted his hands on his fatigued back.

"Oh thank goodness…Oh you have no idea how much you scared me when I saw you all unresponsive." Sherlock smiled tightly back at John as the army doctor studied him at an arm length. "If it weren't for your phone call…" John shivered as he remembered Lydia Marlowe's dead body.

"That…" Sherlock began and dropped his gaze. "That wasn't me. That was William." He said quietly. John tilted his head to the side questioningly.

"Who?" The consulting detective didn't answer straight away. He struggled to find the appropriate place to start his explanation but he couldn't find it. He just looked back at John, his mouth slightly open and his brilliant blue eyes wavered. He closed his mouth tightly and bit his lips with a confused look. John looked back at him with a concerned expression. "Sherlock?" Suddenly, Sherlock remembered the note that Lydia had given him.

"John, where are my clothes?" He asked as he realized that he was dressed in a hospital gown.

"The staff has it." Sherlock nodded.

"Can you get it for me? There's something I want to show you." The army doctor stood up.

"Sure, hold on for a moment will you? I'm going to call Mycroft and Lestrade." Despite himself, Sherlock's chest fluttered with relief when he heard the two familiar names. He closed his eyes and tried to keep his composure. He was so close to breaking down in joy and relief, but before he did, he had things to do. He didn't have time. Any time now, he could collapse back into William. John left the room reluctantly and drew his mobile out from his pocket. Sherlock watched John pace in front of his room though the blinds. The ex-soldier was talking animatedly into his phone. Sherlock let out a sigh and closed his eyes. The machinery around him unnerved him. As he gazed up at the lights, memories flashed through his head again for the umpteenth time. He let out a groan and covered his face with his hands. His fingers were shaking.

_Idiot, you're safe now. There's nothing to be afraid about. It's all over. _

No matter how hard he reasoned with himself, the trembling didn't stop. Unable to endure it any longer, Sherlock exhaled heavily and ripped the electrodes off him as if they were poisonous snakes. He hurled the loose end as far away as possible. Suddenly, the monitor made a strange noise, mistaking that the heart had flat lined. Sherlock clasped his hands over his eyes and stared intently at the foot of the bed.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John hurried into the room with a start and picked up the electrodes. He stretched his hand out to reattach the device onto Sherlock but the slender man scrambled away from it. Realizing that something was wrong, John raised his hands up.

"Hey, relax." Sherlock eyed John's right hand nervously. He still had the mobile phone in his grasp.

"Please put that away, John." Sherlock said with a snap. John looked down at his phone and pocketed it hastily. Sherlock looked at his hands. They were shaking uncontrollably. He was heaving heavily. John noticed that his friend was blinking back tears frantically. Cautiously, John reached out to Sherlock with a stern doctor face.

"Breathe slowly, Sherlock." He said firmly. Sherlock tried to obey but he found the task harder than he had imagined.

"I'm fine." Sherlock muttered. "I'm fine…" Sherlock said this more to himself than to John. "I'm fine, it's all fine…" John took Sherlock's shaking hands and lowered it onto the bed sheet.

"My god, Sherlock, what did they do to you?" Sherlock screwed his eyes shut but didn't reply. "The doctor said he found numerous burn marks on your body. Did they-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now." Sherlock snapped and opened his eyes. John looked back at him apologetically.

"Sorry…"

It was just then that the door opened and a doctor entered the room followed by Lestrade and Mycroft. Sherlock tightened his lips and tried to straighten himself up.

"How are you feeling Mr. Holmes?" the doctor asked as he approached the bed. Sherlock's muscles tensed at the familiar scene.

_They're here to help you, not hurt you. _

He told himself but it took a lot of effort to muster his voice.

"Fine…" he murmured but John was still looking at him with a worried expression. The doctor eyed the abandoned electrodes and turned the heart monitor off.

"You shouldn't take these off without telling us, Mr. Holmes."

"Apologies," Sherlock replied dryly. Lestrade and Mycroft exchanged looks.

"You gave us hell of a fright last night, Sherlock." Lestrade said with a weak smile. Sherlock nodded back at him with a rather blank expression. Then, he looked at Mycroft.

"Is she dead?" It took a moment for Mycroft to realize who Sherlock was talking about. The elder brother nodded.

"How?"

"A bullet in the head." Sherlock nodded his face still expressionless. The doctor checked Sherlock's complexion and eyes just like how John did just a few moments ago. He asked whether any part of his body hurt. Sherlock shook his head.

"And here are your clothes," the doctor handed him a neatly folded stack of fabric. They were still damp from the rain. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. He was worried that they had washed it. He stuck a hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a half soggy piece of paper. He opened it and grimaced. Wrong paper. It was Lydia's farewell letter. He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the bin which was beside the bed. He stuck his hand in the other pocket and pulled out yet another soggy piece of paper that was neatly folded into fours. He unfolded them and grunted in satisfaction. The letters were slightly smeared but still fully legible. He handed it briskly to Lestrade.

"She said she uploaded all the experiment data files here." Lestrade looked down at the paper and nodded numbly. "That would explain all the things that happened to me." At this, Sherlock smiled bitterly. "I myself can't quite remember all the details. Most of it is a blur."

"Don't worry. We'll get the bastards responsible for this." Lestrade promised. Sherlock nodded and turned his attention back to the doctor.

"When can I leave?"

"Well…" The doctor looked at Mycroft. "I can't quite say. Not until we know what really is wrong with you. I need to look through that file of yours and see if there's any damage done to you that needs to be tended. And also, we need to keep you in a secure place for the time being. Not until your captors are caught." Sherlock grimaced at this and fidgeted with the corner of the bed sheet.

"Don't worry. Dr. Kent's been informed of everything that we found out so far." Mycroft explained. "He can be trusted." Sherlock nodded but didn't raise his eyes. To say the truth, Sherlock wasn't afraid of Gail. He was afraid that he was beyond repair. After a few seconds of silence, he raised his head and said in his usual business-like tone,

"Well, then, you all better get working because don't know how much longer I can cope without a case! You have no idea how bored I was." And he managed to flash a smile.

…

John's heart ached as he watched his friend muster a sloppy smile up at them. His lips curved upward but his eyes were hollow. The expression screamed pain. John worried about how Sherlock had fallen into a state of panic just a few minutes ago. Being a sufferer of PTSD, John knew exactly what it was like to go into a traumatic shock. The only reason why John's hands weren't trembling anymore was because of Sherlock, and it hurt him to see that very person suffering from the same thing. Sherlock was now engaging in a conversation with Mycroft and Lestrade about how long he had been gone.

"2 months, really?" Sherlock mused. His voice was back to his usual tone and Sherlock seemed contended but when John dropped his gazed down at his hands, he noticed that Sherlock's slender fingers were still trembling. After a few minutes, the doctor and Mycroft excused themselves to disclose the experiment data that Sherlock had given access to. Lestrade went out to grab a coffee for John, Sherlock, and himself. John pulled up a chair beside Sherlock and sat down.

"Are you hungry?" John asked. "You look thinner than before." Sherlock flashed his trade-mark artificial smile.

"Believe it or not, I am. I haven't eaten properly for days."

"I'll ask the staff to get something for you to eat then." John leaned toward the interphone. The moment the speaker made a clicking noise, Sherlock winced and turned his head away from John. John tried his best not to alarm his flat mate and quickly ended the conversation over the interphone but even after he turned it off, Sherlock's shoulder was trembling. He slowly placed at hand on Sherlock's bony right shoulder and pressed on it reassuringly.

"Sherlock," He started. The consulting detective looked back at John as he tried to straighten himself up. "Tell me what's wrong." Sherlock raised his shaking hand up and examined it. He slowly flexed his fingers. After repeating the motion for several seconds, he looked back up at John.

"They gave me shock therapy. You see these marks?" Sherlock pulled his hospital gown away from his chest to show John the numerous scars. John's eyes widened. He stretched his hands toward it and examined the scars.

"This is horrible." He finally breathed. Sherlock grunted in agreement.

"Ever since, I can't…I mean," Sherlock sighed. "Everything's wrong, John." The consulting detective's expression fell and suddenly, he looked dead tired. "I have flash backs, pain, head aches…trembles," Sherlock raised his hands up to indicate what he was talking about. "Lights and electronics frighten me. Public space and crowded places makes me twitchy. I…" Sherlock closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. John gently squeezed Sherlock's shoulder to encourage him to speak. "I lost my grip over myself. There's another person inside my head." John's eye brows twitched at this. This was worse than he had imagined.

"What do you mean another person?" Sherlock smiled warily. He knew that no one would be able to understand it easily.

"That person that called you last night…that wasn't me. It was William."

"Who's that?"

"It's the other me." The doctor just gazed into Sherlock's face with a stern look. "I collapse and fall into a trance. The next moment, I wake up as William. We take turns controlling the body. That's why I don't remember all the details during my abduction."

"Hell…" John breathed and blinked. "Sherlock, how long has this been going on?" Sherlock shrugged.

"I'm not sure. But seeing that I've been gone for two months, I think William appeared about a month ago. Maybe more. I'm not sure. You have to check the reports."

"How-how many are there?"

"It's just the two of us." Sherlock answered plainly. John was unnerved by the way Sherlock addressed William as if he really existed.

_Just the two of us…hell, he's using words like "we" and "us". _

Sherlock gazed at the foot of the bed with faraway eyes.

"William doesn't seem to have the same traumatic stress as me. He still does occasionally get sick and scared but it's not as bad as my condition. That's why I asked him to call you last night. He can touch phones."

"Sherlock," John started cautiously and let go of his shoulder. "William doesn't exist. You're the one that made the phone call. It was you." The ex-soldier didn't like the way Sherlock kept talking about himself as if it was a different person. "You suffered a lot of stress and your subconscious is trying to soften the blow by separating your head in two but you have to understand that it's just you, Sherlock. There is no William. He's you and you are him." Sherlock let out a dry chuckled and shook his head.

"I know, John. You have no idea how many times I told myself that, but logic doesn't work anymore. That's just pop psychology." His eyes twinkled sadly. "Nothing can be rationalized with me anymore."

Shortly after that, Lestrade joined the company and the three enjoyed their warm cup of coffee. At the same time, Sherlock nibbled on the hospital food and tried to remember what it was like to eat properly. Everything tasted stale but Sherlock savored the liberty of being able to eat. The three mainly discussed about how they had managed to track Sherlock down. Sherlock listened to every detail in silence while John and Lestrade filled him in. The consulting detective showed special interest in the part where Anderson managed to link the nicotine patches to Baskerville. Once they had finished their story, Sherlock bit his lips and contemplated all the facts.

"Do you know where Dr. Marlowe's body is?" Sherlock asked all of the sudden. Lestrade and John exchanged glances.

"Yeah, um…it's kept in this hospital's morgue. Why?"

"Just curious." Sherlock answered as he broke a piece of bread from a chunk and popped it into his mouth. Lestrade shifted in his chair.

"So…Dr. Marlowe was the one who…you know…" He started cautiously. Sherlock shrugged and tried to look careless about it.

"You'll find all the details in the report but yes, she was the one who conducted the whole thing."

"And then she was killed?" Lestrade asked. As an officer in the homicide division, Lestrade was in charge of this case. Sherlock knew that Lestrade was asking Sherlock these questions not just because he was curious but also because it was part of his job. Sherlock did his best to cooperate.

"Yes well, she's the one that eventually helped me escape. Sentiment got to her."

"_Sentiment?_" John blurted. "She tortured you for heaven's sake." Sherlock nodded.

"It's hard to explain what made her risk her life for all this. I don't fully understand it either for I myself is not very fond of the concept of _sentiment_. Again, you'll have to read the reports if you want to find out any more about this." At this the three fell silent.

…

"My god, what have they done to him…" Lestrade breathed as they all skimmed through the reports. "This is inhumane." Mycroft nodded in agreement. John winced as he read some of the passage. Dr. Kent and Mycroft had summoned John and Lestrade into one of the briefing rooms in the hospital as soon as Sherlock fell asleep. They needed to organize all the information before Mycroft submitted the evidence to Internal Affairs.

"They completely altered his personality." John breathed. "And they drugged him a lot. I can't believe that they even call themselves scientists." Dr. Kent flicked through the files.

"They were careful not to leave any permanent physical damage…but he's been induced with several substances that I don't recognize." John nodded in agreement. "This could have triggered some of the more psychological damages. Mr. Holmes will need quite a time to straighten things out. And the after effects of the shock therapy are worrisome as well. As with this D-12 and D-13…we'll have to run some tests on Mr. Holmes to see what's going on here." Lestrade sighed and tossed the file onto the table with an exasperated look.

"'_Test subject endured physical strain over 6 hours before collapsing. Shows mild sign of cognitive dysfunction. Partial memory loss. Progress positive. _ This is simply revolting."

…

After their briefing, Mycroft went back to his office to officially launch the investigation. Lestrade took charge of the murder case of Lydia Marlowe and headed back to the Scotland Yard. John went back to his flat to grab some daily products, clothes, and books that Sherlock might need during his hospitalization. When he came back to the ward, Dr. Kent swooped over and grabbed him by the arm urgently. His face looked anxious and his pace was quick. John was pulled toward Sherlock's room urgently.

"Thank goodness you're here." Dr. Kent breathed. "He just woke up but he's terribly confused. I tried to calm him down but he won't trust me. He kept on demanding for you." John turned toward the window to look inside the room but the blinds were shut. Kent opened the door and guided John inside. Several nurses were by the door as if guarding it. They turned toward the two visitors with a slightly relieved look. Sherlock was pacing around the bed agitatedly. When he noticed door opening, he started towards it but the nurses ushered him back. Sherlock scowled at them.

"What's going on here, Sherlock?" John asked as he lowered the bags. "I brought you some clothes from the flat." Sherlock snapped his head toward John and widened his eyes. The army doctor looked back at him and arched his brow. "What? Did I say something?" Sherlock suddenly strode towards him and grabbed his shoulders.

"You're John? John Watson?" John opened his mouth and frowned but closed it again, unable to find his voice. He looked into Sherlock's eyes. They were wide, confused, and his expressions were plastered with emotions.

"Yes," He finally managed to answer with a croak. "Sherlock, are you-"

"Oh thank goodness you got my call." The taller man breathed and leaned on to John. "I couldn't trust them, you know." He looked around the room to indicate the nurses.

"Sherlock, let's calm down and sit, shall we?" John suggested cautiously. Sherlock looked down at John and blinked. After a few seconds, the man let go of John and heaved a sigh as he slumped back into the bed. He cradled his head in his hands. The nurses exchanged glances and slowly excused themselves out of the room, now that they knew that the situation was in control. Dr. Kent lingered in the back of the room with a protective look. John pulled up a chair and sat in front of Sherlock.

"You think I'm Sherlock Holmes?" the man croaked without looking at John. His flat mate didn't reply but merely looked at his friend with a slight squirming sensation in his chest. Sherlock looked up at John with a frightened look.

"Where's Irene?" It took John a few seconds to realize that he was talking about Lydia Marlowe, not the real Irene Adler who was long dead in Karachi.

"She's dead." John murmured. Sherlock's froze. He stared at John with a blank expression. After a few torturous seconds of silence, the light blue eyes wavered and his eye brows strained in agony. John was taken aback by this. It was so different from last day's Sherlock's reaction when he heard the same news from Mycroft. It was as if he was talking to a completely different person and fear panged in his stomach. Sherlock swallowed and blinked back tears. He lowered his head and clenched his fist.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked weakly.

"Yes, I'm positive. I saw the body." Sherlock's head whipped up. "She was shot in the head." He added with a sour look on his face. Sherlock covered his face with his hands and let out a sob as he breathed,

"Oh god…" His breath shuddered. John placed a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

"If it makes you feel any better," John started uncertainly. "The doctor says that it was an instant death. No pain."

"But she's dead." Sherlock blurted and grasped his short curls of hair. He pushed them back and groaned. "Oh god, what do I do…" All John could do was bite his lips and wait until Sherlock regained his composure. Dr. Kent shifted at the door. John glanced at the doctor and the two exchanged concerned glances. Suddenly, Sherlock shot his head up again. His face was strained but his eyes showed a glimmer of determination. For a second, John thought Sherlock was back to his usual self.

"I want to see her." He said in a hollow voice. John blinked. "Sherlock told me she's kept in the morgue."

"What…" John murmured and then remembered what Sherlock had said the day before.

_That's why I asked him to call you last night. _

He hears voices in his head. John made a mental note of this. Then, he looked back at Dr. Kent again with a questioning glance. The doctor seemed unsure of what to do but finally made up his mind as he studied Sherlock's determined look.

"Come then, I'll escort you there." The doctor said and opened the door.

…

John watched as Sherlock padded into the chilly morgue. There were several tables aligned in the vast room. Some had black body bags perched on it. Others were empty. John shuddered at the rows of the dead. He was used to visiting these kinds of places with Sherlock but it was unnerving when that same person was walking down the aisle shakily. It was as if Sherlock had never walked into a morgue before. The taller man's gaze shot uncomfortably from one place to another.

As Dr. Kent approached one of the body bags and unzipped it, Sherlock let out a sharp gasped ad edged closer to the body. John and Kent stepped back to give him some space. John watched in horror as Sherlock's face contorted with pain and shock. At first it was as if he was mesmerized by Lydia's lifeless body. There was gaping hole in the center of the forehead but other than that, she was neatly cleaned.

"They just finished the autopsy last night." Kent murmured but Sherlock didn't seem to be listening. He pushed away the zipper to get a clear view of her face. Suddenly, Sherlock let out a sob as he reached out to gingerly brush the hair out of her face. His lips quivered. John couldn't believe what was happening. Surely, Sherlock was acting. It must be. He had never seen him so emotional. As if that wasn't convincing enough, Sherlock suddenly crumbled to his knees and started to cry uncontrollably. His shoulders shook and he let out pained gasps. His hand grasped the stiff cold hand of Lydia.

"No, no, no, you can't be dead." Sherlock groaned. "Please don't leave me." He pleaded desperately. John shifted from one foot to another, unsure of what to do. Kent seemed pretty calm about it since he didn't know Sherlock so well. He thought it was a completely normal reaction but for John it was disturbing. Sherlock's plea soon turned into incoherent babbles and he wept. Soon, the sobs escalated and in no time became howls of grief and pain. It echoed in the room of dead for nearly half an hour before John finally managed to approach Sherlock who was now a complete mess. He was hyperventilating and his face was drenched in tears. His eyes were bloodshot and he refused to let go of Lydia. John shushed Sherlock and slowly peeled him away from the table.

"Come on, on your foot…there you go. It's okay, take a deep breath." Sherlock gulped as he leaned over John weakly and ran a shaking hand down his wet face.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe they really killed her. She was innocent, she saved me. _She was everything to me._" He babbled. John grimaced at these words. Deep inside, he cursed Lydia Marlowe for turning Sherlock into such a broken man. The fact that he was grieving for his torturer's death made the back of his neck burn with anger and disgust. Kent handed Sherlock a handkerchief to wipe his face. Sherlock took the cloth gratefully as he slumped against the wall of the elevator. His breath was still shaky and hitched once a while but he seemed to have calmed down.

Once they managed to haul him into bed, Kent offered Sherlock something to calm him down. Sherlock winced at the thought of an injection. He shook his head.

"I'll ask for someone to get you a cup of tea then," the doctor said and turned to leave the room. Before he opened the door, he leaned toward John and murmured,

"Please keep an eye on him. Just in case." John nodded.

…

William stared at the wall with hollow eyes. He noticed John take a seat beside him and place a warp cup of tea on the bedside table.

"Here's your tea." He said quietly. William didn't answer. There was no denying the fact that she was dead. He thought crying would make him feel better but it only made it worse. The emptiness inside of him almost ached. He even felt scared of what was going to happen to him. He was so lost without her. She was his everything. Literally everything. It was the only thing that defined who he was. He thought back of everything that she had done for him. He recalled the days they had spent talking about their past life.

_Yes, but your past life is all a fake. It never existed._

A faint voice said. William knew that but he couldn't let the thought go. Everything was so confusing .It was easier for him to believe the lies than accept the truth. The truth? What was the truth anyway? How could he know that he was truly Sherlock Holmes and not William Crawford? What if _they_ were lying about his identity and William Crawford was his true identity? How was he to know that this man sitting beside him was truly John Watson and not another Dr. Gail? What if the reports he read were all a fake that was planted by the enemy? What if Sherlock Holmes had manipulated him to believe that William Crawford was not real? Is that why Lydia was dead? Did someone want to hide the truth?

"Sherlock," John murmured and reached out to William. The grieving man jerked his head toward him.

"I'm not Sherlock." He blurted. John froze but nodded.

"Fine, William." John drew his hand back. "How are you feeling?" William looked back at John, who was staring at him with a genuinely concerned look, just like how Lydia…_Irene_ used to. He winced.

"Stop looking at me like that." John dropped his gaze hastily.

"Sorry." A moment of silence. "Is there anything I can do for you? I got some of your clothes from the flat…and books if that would help you calm down." He suggested helpfully but William ignored it. John sighed. "Do you want to talk about it?" Again, no reply.

"Leave me alone. I just want to be alone." John hesitated to obey his request. "Please." He added without looking at him. The man nodded and slowly left his seat.


	12. Chapter 12

"Couldn't you find anything other than this tedious crossword puzzle?" Sherlock slapped at the small booklet in his hand. "This is so primary; I think I'm going to fall asleep." John tilted his head to one side to look inside the pages. He raised his eyebrows.

"You finished all of it?"

"Well, there's nothing else to do is there?" He blurted and handed the booklet to John. "Lestrade should just bring me a case already." John rolled his eyes.

"We talked about this. He's busy with…" John's voice trailed away. Sherlock looked at him questioningly with his sharp blue eyes. "With the murder of Lydia Marlowe and finding Gail." John murmured uncomfortably. Sherlock shrugged carelessly.

"Boring," He dismissed. John marveled at how indifferent Sherlock was to all the things that had happened to him these last few months. Other than the occasional panic attacks and the twitchiness, he seemed like his usual self. It was as if William and Sherlock were two different people. It's been a week since John first "met" William. Their first encounter was something close to a disaster. Ever since, William cowered away from John or any other person in general. He refused to discuss his feelings with people, yet his expression screamed grief. The ex-soldier knew that within time, William would get over the loss as he grew more accustom to the outside world and widened his perspective. However, at the moment, Lydia Marlow had literally been everything to William. It was what defined him. He would struggle with his emotions but things would definitely turn out better in the future.

What truly worried John was Sherlock. The detective was acting like his usual self. Literally "acting" and since he's so good at it John is having a hard time trying to reach into his real problems. Even the great Sherlock Holmes cannot survive the whole ordeal without a scratch. Although he seemed to be fine, the fact that William still existed was a critical issue that still had to be solved. Sherlock seemed to be trying to avert everyone from that fact.

"How long have I been cooped up in here anyway?"

"A week."

"Really? Feels shorter than that."

"That's because you're not yourself most of the time…or you're unconscious." John said and sighed. Most of the time, he was William or in a trance-like state, completely unresponsive for hours. No one knew when he would collapse. Sometimes it happened in a short span of time and in others, nothing happened for days until he collapsed again. Dr. Kent was trying to decode the relationship between Sherlock's sudden collapse and his change of personalities. The detective shrugged as if to say it's-not-a-big-deal. John looked at his clock.

"I see you broke up with your girlfriend." The detective said and smiled slyly. John opened his mouth but closed it again. "I can see from your hair and shoes that you're not really upset about it, meaning that _you_ dumped her. Interesting." John's thin lips even became thinner as he heard Sherlock's deductions.

"Yes, very well done, Sherlock." He said sarcastically.

"See, my deductive skills are back to normal. Now let's call Lestrade or Dimmock and see if there are any interesting cases out there." John rolled his eyes.

"Quit it, Sherlock."

"I'm pretty sure that the Yard has a case or two that they're struggling to solve since I'm absent."

"Sherlock, I mean it, quit it. Just quit all this." John said in a half shout, half plead. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John. "I know you're trying to cope with it but what you're doing at the moment isn't coping, Sherlock. It's running." Sherlock opened his mouth to protest.

"I certainly am not."

"Then how do you explain _that_?" John pointed at Sherlock's hands which were quivering slightly. "You've been shaking ever since I placed my mobile on the bedside table. Why won't you tell me right away that it's bothering you?" Sherlock grimaced at John and said through his clenched teeth,

"I'm _coping_." John exhaled and placed the phone back into his pocket. Sherlock eyed it for a few seconds before he raised his gaze back up at John.

"Look, you can't overcome trauma by your own like this. Let me help you. If you understand why you fear these things, it would really help you return to normal life." The doctor pressed. He himself knew how true these words were.

"I _do _understand it," Sherlock spat. "I was tied down, electrocuted over and over again until I lost consciousness. Even if I regained them I was forced into convulsions and pain far more than you can possibly imagine. If that's not enough I don't know what you expect me to understand, John! I'm fine. I just need to get out of this place!" He was heaving by the time he was done.

"You're not leaving this place unless we know what's going on inside your head."

"It's not a big deal-"

"Why are you so reluctant to show me what's wrong, Sherlock? How can you be so…We're friends, why can't you rely on me a bit more? Why are you so reluctant to treat yourself?"

"BECAUSE I MIGHT NEVER RECOVER!" Sherlock exploded. For the first time in ages, Sherlock seemed to have shown his true self. John was taken aback by the outburst but at the same time, relieved to be able to see the true Sherlock. The detective clasped his hands down and tried to stop it from shaking. "I might be like this forever and there's no point mulling over it." Sherlock said with a low, agitated voice. "It's best to learn to cope with it and move on rather than spend endless time trying to treat it." John found himself shaking his head at this.

"You're wrong, Sherlock. We _can _fix this. We can. I know it."

"Then how do you explain all of this?" Sherlock exclaimed and raised his hands. "Goddamit, John, I collapse and turn into someone else. I lose memory worth _hours_. I WAS TORTURED FOR TWO MONTHS!" John raised his hands.

"Relax, Sherlock, relax." Sherlock heaved through his clenched teeth and screwed his eyes shut. John gently placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. In the report it was stated that Sherlock suffered from severe flashbacks and pain when he showed excessive emotion. He needed to calm the consulting detective down.

"I need a case, John. A case would keep me busy. I wouldn't have to worry about all this." John understood what the detective meant. He himself managed to overcome his trauma by meeting Sherlock and engaging himself into adventures. Sherlock thought that the same might work for himself but they both knew deep inside that the matter was not as simple as John's case. "Dammit, dammit," Sherlock muttered agitatedly and slapped his hands. "It won't stop shaking…" John looked at the long slender fingers and gently placed a hand over it. "There's nothing wrong with me." Sherlock said through gritted teeth. "There's nothing wrong with me." John shushed Sherlock and patted the man's shoulder. The doctor felt relieved that he was final able to converse with Sherlock properly. Sherlock's body suddenly slumped forward and thudded into John's embrace as if someone had pulled the plug on the young man.

"Sherlock?" John called out. The body was limp and warm against his body. "Sherlock? He asked again. He grasped Sherlock shoulders and pulled him away. Sherlock's brain had shut down again.

…

It was 8 hours later when William opened his eyes and gazed back at John. It was almost 10 in the evening. John smiled at William. The man blinked and raised himself up to sit. He narrowed his eyes and looked at John and then back around him. It was the usual routine. It was as if William didn't trust John at all. Finally, the blue eyes landed back on John as he asked,

"How long was I gone this time?"

"I dunno. Sherlock was here for about a whole day…" William squared his jaw as he heard the name. It was clear that William did not like people talking about Sherlock in front of him.

"John," The man muttered hesitantly. The name sounded so foreign when William said it. "Is your name really John Watson?" The doctor blinked at this and stared at the thin man for a second. Then again, having been tricked by Lydia Marlowe, it was understandable that he was a bit paranoid.

"Yes, William, it is."

"Why do you all me William?" the brows were furrowed.

"Because…you told me to."

"But I'm Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes…well, the more I look at you, the less you sound like him."

"What's he like? How long have you known him?" John was taken aback by all these questions being pelted at him. He had never seen William converse this much with him ever since their first encounter. Perhaps this was a good sign. Then again, the questions were disturbing. They showed mild signs of paranoia. John explained anyway and all in depth as much as possible to convince William. It was strange having to talk about Sherlock to that very same person. He explained the violins, the late night experiments, the amazing deductive skills, his aloof nature, and his dislike toward Sergeant Anderson. William listened to all this silently until John paused as he ran out of things to describe. After a while, the patient asked in a rather cold tone,

"Who's Irene Adler?"

The conversation was the longest John had ever had. Well, it wasn't much of a conversation since John was doing all the talking but it was as if William was trying to assess the situation by researching about Sherlock and his past life. Perhaps he was trying hard to recall his memory and make sense of his identity. William was struggling to find the right direction and John was willing to help.

While Sherlock was present, he would engage in several psychological therapies and medical assessment in order to find out what is wrong with him but while William was present, since his psychological damage seemed more acute and less critical, the doctors encouraged him to work on his physical rehabilitation. Unlike Sherlock, William was able to walk out into the corridor and to the gym without flinching. He didn't mind the high ceilings and the open space or the halogen lights. One time, the doctors had tried taking Sherlock into the gym but he lost his composure and fell into a state of panic in the middle of the hallway. He just crouched down and trembled, refusing the go any further. Despite the fact that Sherlock demanded to be released out of the facility, the consulting detective was unable to go even outside the corridor. All seemed well for William but John knew that William's recovery meant little. It was Sherlock's recovery that mattered. William seemed to be aware of this and simply waited patiently for Sherlock to recover. Or it seemed like it to John and the other doctors but they never managed to realize that William wasn't waiting for Sherlock's recovery but for something else.

…

It was a few days later when William finally heard the news he was waiting for. Gail was taken custody by the police. John was sitting beside the bed as usual while William was lazily reading a book when Detective Inspector Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes entered the room. William raised his head up at the two men. They had only met a couple of times. They usually hung around when Sherlock was present but only managed to talk to William for a couple of minutes before they ran out of topics and retreated reluctantly from the room.

"Evening, Sherlock" Lestrade nodded.

"William," He informed the detective inspector with a flat tone. The officer pursed his lips.

"Right, sorry." He cleared his throat. "I got news for you two." William raised his eyebrows. "We got Gail. He held at the headquarters right now. The internal affairs and the Yard are going to question him."

"That's great." John breathed.

"Yes, it is. Now it makes it easier for us to break down and exploit the whole research project." Mycroft said with a twirl of his umbrella. "But we'll still have to keep you in here, I'm afraid." He turned his attention to William. "Sherlock's taking a while to recover."

"I understand." William nodded, trying to sound as concerned as possible.

"I'll inform you more on it as soon as we end the questioning." Lestrade said and looked at William and John in turned with his deep auburn eyes. "Tell Sherlock that, will you?" The two nodded in unison. William bit his tongue. He's been waiting for this all week. Before anyone could realize what was happening, William tensed the muscles around his legs and pounced from the bed, shoving John away. He knew from his past observation that Lestrade kept a handgun in his holster, near his right waist. He lunged at the DI and wrapped his long arms around the officer's neck. Lestrade let out a muffled yelp as William pulled at the officer's right arm and tugged at the holster. Mycroft and John started toward Will but before they could touch him, the patient pushed Lestrade against the wall and drew out his gun. Pressing it against the DI's head, he screamed,

"Don't move!" the two paused. He pushed Lestrade harder against the wall. Then, he tugged him to the side to get nearer to the door. He pulled at the officer's arm and nudged the gun.

"Open the door." Lestrade hesitated. "OPEN THE DOOR." He bellowed. The DI obeyed and clumsily reached for the door handle with his left hand and pushed it open. Will shot an intimidating glare at Mycroft and John.

"If I see you two leave this room, he's dead." He said as he slipped out into the corridor.

"William," Lestrade tried to reason with him but William had no intention to listen to the officer.

"Shut it." He said plainly and looked around the room. It was late in the evening. A nurse saw the two and gasped. Another was rooted to the spot and a doctor stared at them with a bewildered look. "Stay where you are." Will ordered and tugged Lestrade down the corridor. The detective inspector tugged back.

"Sher-William, what the hell are you-"

"We're going to your car and you're driving me to the headquarters." He said briskly as he turned to corner.

"What…" Then, it suddenly dawned upon Lestrade. The officer suddenly stopped walking and refused to move. William tugged but the officer didn't obey.

"I will pull the trigger if you don't move, Lestrade." The detective inspector swallowed. Suddenly, he saw a shadow move in the corner of his eye. William whipped around and bellowed,

"No one move or I'll kill him!" A nurse who was backing away from them stumbled over his legs and fell over. "I said don't move!" Just then, Lestrade took advantage over William's loosened grip and twisted his arm away from the grasp and lunged for the gun. William pulled it away and accidentally pulled the trigger. The bullet went off and ricocheted into the wall. Screams echoed down the hallway. After a few struggling moments with the officer, another figure tackled him from the back. William realized it was John Watson. He kicked at the doctor and pushed Lestrade away. He pressed his back against the wall and raised the gun at his own head. This was the only way he could negotiate his way out of here. He was taking Sherlock as a hostage. The two men froze at the spot as they saw what William was doing.

"William, stop this, you're making a mistake." John called out in a stern voice but the tall man shook his head. He edged closer to the end of the corridor.

"I have to go. I have to go and kill him." William muttered more to himself than to John and squared his jaws. He was breathing hard. "He killed Irene." Lestrade raised his hands to halt William.

"Calm down." The patient edged away from the two. "No one needs to die anymore. We got Gail. We need to question him and find out if there are any other people that suffered from the same ordeal." The officer blurted but William shook his head. Tears welled up as he thought of Irene.

"If you won't let me go then I'll kill Sherlock."

"You wouldn't do that, William." John barked but the taller man stared at the doctor with a blank look. Just when he was about to pull the trigger, a pair of hands appeared from behind him and grabbed his gun. The hands pried the instrument away from William's grasp. Taking advantage over this, John pushed William over and pinned him to the floor. William squirmed around and tried to break away but Lestrade restrained his legs. William realized who had attacked him. It was Kent. He must have been hiding behind one of the open doors along the corridor. Mycroft was looking down at him with a grim look.

"LET ME GO!" he roared. "HE KILLED IRENE!" Suddenly, John flipped William onto his back and grabbed the front of his shirt roughly, lifting his upper body up from the floor. The doctor's face was stern than ever.

"Let me show you something, William." John said calmly and pulled the taller man to his feet. "Lydia Marlowe was not who you think it was!" He said as he dragged the patient down the corridor. He tried to break free but Lestrade shoved his back. John pulled at his arm with a frighteningly strong grip as he was led back to his room. The doctor gruffly pushed William onto the bed. Will scrambled up but the John shot a look at William and ordered in a harsh tone,

"Sit down," Then, he pulled out a laptop from his back and shoved it at William after he quickly flicked it on. Lestrade, Kent, Mycroft and some other nurses entered the room as well. William held the laptop reluctantly. "If you want to find out if she loved you or not, this would help you get your answer." He said in a roughly and pressed play. The screen filled with a black and white image of a man huddled in the middle of a vacant room, groaning. William squinted. It took a while to notice that it was himself. His limbs were limp and he was mumbling something incoherently. He also noticed that he was trembling.

"This is the footage from the very research facility that Lydia Marlowe worked in." John said and fast forwarded it. A woman strode into the scene. A breath caught in William's throat. It was Irene. She crouched beside the limp figure and checked his pulse. He flashed a light into his eyes and nodded to herself. She turned to one of the assistants.

"He's still in phase one. Keep him out for a few more days." The man moaned and tried to resist the gripping hands as the orderlies injected him with something. John grimaced and fast forwarded it again. This time, the screen changed into a brighter room, where he was strapped onto a table screaming and writhing. Blood was dribbling down his chin and on his chest. He was hyperventilating and vomiting. William tried to avert his eyes away when he heard his own cracked voice scream in utter agony but John shoved the screen at his face.

"No, you have to look. This is what they did to you, William. This is what they did to you and Sherlock." The corner of William's mouth twitched as the howl continued. A nauseating feeling was rising up inside of him. A strange high pitched noise buzzed inside his head. John fast forwarded until he saw himself in a different room, this time strapped down onto a chair. He looked thinner and more fatigued in this scene. He looked almost lifeless as his head drooped over his chest. The only thing that indicated that he was alive was the faint rising and falling of his chest. William winced as he saw his own body convulse as it suffered from an electric shock. Then another shock. The man didn't even scream. He was unresponsive. The head lolled to the side. William inhaled sharply as a tingle ran down his body too. He vaguely remembered the pain and the fear as they kept him on the chair for hours and hours, frying his skin. William pushed the screen away as he retched. John shoved it back at him.

"No, not yet." The screen was fast forwarded to where William was on the floor again, shivering and trembling. Irene strode into the room lazily and murmured something into his ear. The man let out a whimper and groaned but none of the words made any sense. Then, William's heart froze as he saw nice and clearly in the screen the smiling face of Lydia Marlowe.

"He's ready," She said gleefully. His body was dragged out into the chair. The moment he saw the first jolt attack him, William closed his eyes. A flashing light appeared behind his eyes. He pressed the heel of his hands into his eye sockets. John pulled them away.

"Open your eyes, William." He said firmly.

"No, stop…" He begged. Lestrade edged toward John hesitantly.

"John, maybe you should-" The doctor shook his head.

"No, he needs to understand what Sherlock's experienced. He needs to understand why Sherlock created him." William's shoulder trembled as he heard the series of agonized screams and moans. The occasional voice of Marlowe and Gail haunted him. He remembered the disorienting noise that made him sick. The time he was hung by a noose and almost died. The electric shocks, the drugs, the nightmares, the hunger, the noise, the smell… William covered his face with his clammy hands and took a deep breath.

"Just stop, stop it…" John pulled the laptop away from him and snapped it shut. He grasped his shoulders firmly and looked into his face. The dark eyes bore into his.

"Now do you remember everything?" William was still trembling. He opened his mouth and closed it. His blood shot eyes screwed shut.

"Yes," He breathed and bit his lips. He tried hard not to throw up. He looked up at John. _But she still loved me_. He wanted to say but the words didn't make it out of his mouth. He knew that those words were a fake.


	13. Chapter 13

Six months later.

"What are you thinking?" The baritone voice suddenly asked from the window side. John blinked at his flat mate, who had his back turned toward him. Were it a few months ago, Sherlock would have never been able to stand so proudly by the window and gaze down at the streets like this.

"About you" The doctor answered honestly.

After the whole incident, Sherlock/ William's brain went under a complete shutdown. The frail man cowered away from John and suddenly collapsed. And just like that, he was unresponsive for the next few weeks. John never left his flat mate's side. Those were the longest days of John's life. Even after half a year, John's mind drifted to that incident. It took Sherlock nearly a month before he could walk in open space. Memories of William merged together and caused him emotional confusions. Agitation took over. So did the spontaneous headaches. Sherlock turned toward John and gazed at him. His eyebrows were slightly strained.

"What about me?"

"Whether you're all fine now." He answered quietly.

"Of course I'm not." Sherlock answered honestly in a dead pan voice. The bright sunlight pouring from the hind made the shadow on his faces darken. He strode toward the violin case perched by the couch and flipped it open. John grimaced. Sherlock was nearly back to normal but his violin skills were still far from his original state. The long slender fingers trembled when he caressed the instrument. The doctor watched silently as Sherlock took a deep breath and pulled up his bow. Music flowed from the violin with ease but it was not as mesmerizing as it used to be. It shook at places it shouldn't and all the tunes poured out rather hastily. In less than five minutes, Sherlock let out a sigh and placed the violin back into the case and closed it with an agitated smack.

"See, I'm not fine." Sherlock said briskly as he straightened out the creases in his suit. Without another word, the consulting detective strode into the kitchen and started to set up his experimenting equipment on the table with a clatter.

As he watched Sherlock bustle around, John wondered what was going on in his flat mate's head. He never could understand how Sherlock got rid of William. It was as if, at some point, the two's memories synchronized. William started acting like Sherlock and Sherlock started acting… human. William became more composed and almost cold. Sherlock started to openly express distress and fatigue. After a few months of physical rehabilitation and psychological therapy, Sherlock was back in shape and he experienced less panic attacks and migraines. William seized to grieve and instead, a steely look in his eyes returned. Over time, it was as if William dissolved. Sherlock was just Sherlock, one and only, once again. But there were some occasions when a peculiar light flashed in Sherlock's green-blue eyes that made John feel as if William was still inside of Sherlock, lurking in the deep abyss at the corner of the detective's head. It was as if the remains of William was struggling against Sherlock, refusing to leave. Sherlock seemed to be unaware of it, or either he was ignoring it. Perhaps that was why his fingers still trembled when he played the violin. Suddenly, Sherlock's mobile buzzed on the kitchen table. Without looking at it, the tall man swiped the phone from the surface and pressed it to his ear.

"Sherlock Holmes," He said evenly and paused. John turned his head around to see who he was talking to. Perhaps it was Lestrade with another case. Sherlock's eyes wavered for a fraction of a second as he listened silently. "Right, I'll meet you there." With a brisk gesture, Sherlock severed the connection. Before John could ask who the caller was, Sherlock turned to him and said in a slightly lowered voice,

"It was Mycroft." And that moment, John thought he saw that peculiar glow in Sherlock's eyes that made his spine tingle.

…

No one knew what to do with Gail. After several weeks of questioning, he was sent to Wandsworth Prison. Mycroft wanted to have Gail tried in court but at the same time, the Iceman side of him felt reluctant of exposing the ordeal and deteriorating the British government's reputation. Mycroft himself accompanied the questioning. The elder Holmes felt something acidic bubble up inside him when he locked eyes with the convict. The way Gail stared back at him was filled with anger and loathing, which troubled Mycroft because quite frankly, he should be the one looking that way after all the things this monster had done to his brother. Instead, Mycroft kept his composure and betrayed no emotions no matter how much disgust he felt toward his ex-acquaintance.

After a couple of session, Mycroft understood the general story behind Gail's motive. Everything began from a childish grudge against him and instead of facing his old rival; Gail lashed at his younger brother. The fact that Gail received anonymous mails containing Mycroft's profile was alarming. If it weren't for those mails nudging at Gail, he would have never executed such an act of revenge. Although Mycroft was aware of the fact that he had created many enemies in his career, he was sure there was only one person that would do such a devious thing.

As the legal prosecutor and Lestrade's team mulled over what to do with Gail, Mycroft slowly pulled out his mobile with a grimace. If it was possible, Mycroft didn't want to get Sherlock involved with this any further. The way William attempted to kill Gail was alarming, and although Sherlock recovered from his psychological confusions, the younger Holmes seemed to have lost complete interest in Gail. Or at least that's how he acted and Mycroft got the message clearly; _leave me out of this mess_. Still, Mycroft was sure that somewhere deep inside the younger brother, there was a vengeful part that wanted to finish everything himself. Especially if _that person_ was involved.

…

Despite the fact that his lawyer had told him that the questioning session had ended, he was once again summoned to the interviewing room. As the guards secured him on the chair as usual, Gail rolled his eyes and stared at the empty seat across the table. Usually, the interviewer was already seated when he entered the room.

"Is Lestrade running late again?" Gail asked, curving his lips upward mockingly. The guards didn't say anything and simply left the room and locked the doors securely behind them. Gail let out a sigh and tapped his toes on the floor idly. He knew that Mycroft was itching to make Gail pay for what he had done, but at the same time, he knows that Mycroft was too loyal to his government to make Gail face the justice of the law. Even in a worst case scenario, Gail would be executed to the States or be hushed up with early retirement and a pretty good severance allowance. He chuckled to himself at the thought of it and silently thanked the anonymous mailer that prompted him with this idea in the first place. Just then, Gail heard the door being unlocked again.

"Did you just remember a question you forgot to ask, Inspector?" Gail said snidely at the figure that slipped into the room.

"As a matter of fact, yes" A low voice rumbled as the figure fully appeared in front of Gail. The convict's face froze as he recognized the tall figure. The last time his saw him, the man was a cripple; a babbling mess. The composure and the strength that pervaded from him were so different from how he last remembered that it frightened him. This was the original form of Sherlock Holmes. The familiar face was as pale as ever and there was slight trace of sickness and fatigue left in it but his cheeks weren't as gaunt as before. He held himself upright and proudly with his hands behind his back. The coat made the figure look bigger, taller, and darker. Holmes's lips were drawn tight and his chin was slightly drawn as he gazed down upon Gail with a cold look. Above all, the way his sharp eyes glinted was almost like a deadly predator.

"Sherlock Holmes…" Gail breathed out shakily.

"No," The detective corrected in a cold tone. "It's William." Without breaking eye contact, the figure drew his chair and seated in front of Gail, slowly laced his fingers together, and placed it in front of him. Gail breathed in deeply through his nose and tried to calm his racing heart. The way those intense eyes stared at him almost hurt.

"What do you want?" The bearded man asked as he tried to keep his voice even.

"You know what I want." A cold growl replied. Gail swallowed. "I want a name." A moment of silence hung in the air as the bearded man wished in his head that this was all just a silly nightmare.

"I don't know what you-"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean." William hissed and leaned forward threateningly. "How did you find out about Irene Adler? The mailer told you about her, didn't he? I know you he contacted you other than mails, but he threatened you not to say mention him. You probably consider yourself lucky that you're in here, away from danger. Well, let me tell you this," Gail suddenly realized that his shoulders were quivering. "I can kill you right here, right this moment if I wanted to and no one would give a damned. Not even Mycroft, not even Lestrade." William pulled out a hypodermic needle from his inner pocket. There was a color less fluid in it, which he squeezed it out threateningly. A deadly smile flashed across the slender man's face. "Do you see what I mean?" The convict bit his lips and tugged against the hand cuffs which were firmly attached to the chair. William stood up. His shadow loomed over Gail.

"Imagine ending your life by your own creation, Gail. This is what you gave me. Remember? D-13." William weighed the syringe in his hand and chuckled. "You have no idea what I've been through. Let me assure you one thing. You'll die in pain; excruciating pain. First, your respiration would stop working properly. Then, the muscles would feel like it's on fire. It'll be a long struggle before your consciousness slips away." The figure stepped around the table and edged closer to Gail. The convict let out a panicked whimper and looked up at the enraged detective.

"Wait, you can't do that-" He tried to reason but his voice was drowned as he saw the look on William's face.

"Then tell me," the figure took another step forward. "How did you know about Irene? Unless you know the proper contacts, you would have never have known about her emotional ties with Sherlock Holmes and brought that alias up. Tell me who your informer is and I won't inject anything." Gail swallowed and shook his head. William tensed his jaw as he saw this. A grin spread across his face again. He raised the syringe and grabbed Gail's head. "You asked for it." He breathed.

"Wait!" Gail blurted and heaved. The hand paused and let go of his hair. "Just-just put that thing away and I'll tell you everything I know." William narrowed his eyes and drew his hands away. He sat back down in his seat and aligned his fingers together in a prayer position.

"He left a calling card one day in my office. I don't know where it came from or how it was there. Don't ask me that. It was just there one day. I immediately knew that my anonymous informer wanted to talk to me directly. Strangely, I didn't hesitate to call. I wanted to know more about Mycroft Holmes and…you." Gail swallowed. "He told me a lot of things. How you often helped your brother concerning national securities. And of course he knew the whole story behind you and Irene Adler. We met a couple of times. He explained to me how I could get hold of you. In exchange, I was to send him all the reports and footage of you and the experiment."

"Just say the name that was on the calling card." William growled.

"…James Moriarty."

"You're sure about that?"

"Positive." William straightened his back and took a deep breath.

"Well," Suddenly, William's voice lightened up and the shadows on his face lifted. He stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out a small object. It was an mp3 voice recorder. Suddenly, Gail's complexion paled. "Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Gale. I'm sure Moriarty will know where to find this." William tossed the instrument up in the air and snatched it.

"What are you doing, William?" Gail asked in an alarmed voice. "_What are you going to do with that?!_" The figure stood up from his chair with a flourish and smiled down at Gail.

"Oh please, don't tell me you believed that little play act. Of course I'm not William. _William's gone_. I just needed to shake you up a little. As with this," Sherlock pocketed the recorder again and patted it securely. "I'm pretty sure Moriarty will be very, _very _upset when he finds this." Gail bit the inside of his cheeks as sweat burst from his forehead.

"As a gratitude for your cooperation, I have some good news." Sherlock said in an unnaturally cheery voice. "You will be released from this prison tomorrow morning. No charges will be pressed. You will have plenty of money to spend the rest of your life in peace... out in the open. _Vulnerable_ to Moriaty's grasp." Gail shook his head.

"No, please, you can't-"

"_And_ as a bonus," Sherlock pulled out the needle and placed it on the table in front of Gail. "Take this as a little souvenir. I don't care what you do with it." Sherlock's eyes glinted as he stared at the bearded man. Then, with a brisk, have a great evening, the detective slipped away from the room, leaving Gail trembling and staring wide eyed at the deadly poison.

…

The next morning, John received a call from Lestrade stating that they found Gail dead in his cell after suffering a sudden seizure. The army doctor froze at the spot and tried to assess the situation.

"We found a trace of that substance called D-13 in his blood stream. One of Moriarty's men must have slipped it in him somehow." Lestrade spoke over the phone and sighed. "I don't know what to say. Half of me feel glad for some sick reason…"

John rallied the news to Sherlock, who was perched on his chair, sipping a cup of tea and reading the morning paper. He looked at John from the top of the paper as he silently listened to his flat mate. John expected Sherlock to drop a sarcastic remark or two or at least a flash of fascinated smile and marvel how Moriarty managed to terminate Gail, but all he did was grunt and place the papers down as he stood up. Without a word, the tall man idly strode toward the stereo at the corner of the room and pulled out a CD from one of his desk drawers. John blinked at Sherlock. The stereo in 221B was rarely used because whenever John or Sherlock wanted to listen to music, all they had to do was have Sherlock play it himself.

"What are you doing?" John asked curiously.

"A little something to refresh ourselves. Let's call it a celebration for the final conclusion of this incident." As Sherlock pressed the play button, a melancholic tune flowed into their ears. John's eyes widened. This wasn't the type of music John usually associated with Sherlock.

"What is this?" John asked as he sat down in his chair. He didn't know why but he liked the slow, soothing tune.

"Miles Davis."

* * *

_A/N_

_And that's the end of this story! Sorry for the terribly long delay. I hope you enjoyed it._

_It's a bit of a dark and controversial ending, I know. Whether William is still present of not, that I will leave it up to you :)_

_Thanks for reading and hope to see you guys again when you come across one of my other fics! Till then_


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